


try as i may to shine in the darkness

by the_one_that_fell



Series: the scars that mark my body, they’re silver and gold [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bitty volunteered, he wasn’t thinking about himself. He wasn't thinking about his parents or about everything he was leaving behind. When Bitty volunteered, the only thing he saw was Chowder’s panicked face, Caitlin’s tear-filled eyes.</p><p><i>Safe</i>, he thought as the Peacekeepers marched him towards the stage. <i>He's safe.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I: come away little light, come away to the darkness

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been like a million years since I actually read Hunger Games, but I felt like being sad and I haven’t seen a THG au for the fandom yet, so…
> 
> TW: Major Character Death(s), Graphic Descriptions of Violence/Murder/Suicide, Blood (so much blood), Talk of Drug Addiction and Overdose (some of these only come in part ii, fyi)

When Bitty volunteered, he wasn’t thinking about himself. He wasn't thinking about his parents or about everything he was leaving behind. When Bitty volunteered, the only thing he saw was Chowder’s panicked face, Caitlin’s tear-filled eyes.

 _Safe,_ he thought as the Peacekeepers marched him towards the stage. _He's safe._

It wasn’t until he stood in front of the crowd, shaking violent next to the District Nine escort, that Bitty thought about what this meant. When his mother let out a wail from the back, his knees nearly gave out under him.

He couldn’t see her, nor could he see his father, but Chowder was still standing at the front of the crowd, sobbing openly as Caitlin tried to lead him away. Bitty gritted his teeth and willed his own tears away. He could be strong a little while longer. He _had_ to be strong; his father was watching.

“Well, well,” the escort, Alexei, said in his thick Capitol accent. “It’s been awhile since Nine had a volunteer - please, tell us your name.”

There was suddenly a microphone in Bitty’s face and he stuttered out, “Eric Bittle,” as loud as he could. He heard his mama wail again, but he couldn’t let himself cry.

If they asked him why he volunteered, Bitty didn’t remember answering. Everything blurred after that: holding hands with Jenny, the other tribute, as Alexei announced them; the stunned whispers as they were led away to the holding rooms; Alexei prattling on about _honor_ and _excitement_. Bitty came to when he was locked away in the empty room, alone and on the verge of tears.

The door opened after a moment, and his parents spilled into the room. Mama was hysterical, all but screaming questions at him, torn between wanting to shower love and comfort on her only child and wanting to kill him herself for being stupid. It was his last year; he’d almost made it out.

His father said nothing, which Bitty had expected. Bitty’s uncle - rest his soul - had nearly won the games long before Bitty was born. As one of the more upstanding families in the District, the Bittles found there to be honor in the games. It had never been a secret that Bitty’s father had wished for a son who could win and bring that status (and money) back to the family.

Maybe he’d settle for a son who didn’t die in the first bloodbath. Maybe he’d settle for a son who volunteered.

His father gave him one long hug, not daring to steal any time away from Mama. She held Bitty close, sobbing into his neck, and whispered in his ear, “You have to make it, hun. You have to win. It don’t matter what you do to make it, but _please_. Please make it home.”

Bitty nodded against her shoulder, taking in one shuddering breath, memorizing the smell of flour and butter that lingered in all her clothes, even her best dress.

All too soon they were led out of the room, Mama screaming goodbyes as the Peacekeepers closed the door. Bitty sank back against the wall, letting a few tears escape.

Then the door was opening again and Chowder was barrelling into the room, pulling Bitty into a bone-crushing hug. Caitlin hung behind, hands clasped together anxiously.

“Bitty,” Chowder murmured, arms wrapped tight around him. “Bitty, _why_?”

Bitty shrugged, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “I couldn’t let them send you in there, Chris,” he murmured. “You’re too good for the games.”

“So are you!” Chowder wailed, grip tightening. “Bitty, I- you’re so small.”

That was Chowder’s way of putting it kindly, but Bitty knew what he meant. Chowder was a plower, worked long hours in the fields and had the muscle to prove it. Bitty was just a baker’s apprentice. Physically, Chowder had the better chance of surviving in the games.

But Chowder also had something that so few people in the District did - kindness. It was pure and it was sweet, and it was also a trait that led lambs to the slaughter in the arena.

Bitty didn’t stand a chance, but at least kindness would stay in District Nine.

He could see it now, flashing before his eyes as Caitlin leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek: Chowder and Caitlin would survive their next few reapings, maybe get married at eighteen, live as best as they could with as many children as they could support and never, ever lose that kindness that made them Bitty’s favorite people in the world. Maybe they’d name their first child Eric. Maybe they’d keep him with them, _after_.

Chowder sniffled against Bitty’s shoulder, his tall, thin frame shaking. “You’ll win,” Chowder whispered. “You will. You’re Bitty. You can do anything.”

“I’ll try,” Bitty murmured. “I will.”

Chowder pulled back, wiping at his eyes, and Caitlin stepped forward, clutching something in her hand. She pressed it into Bitty’s palm, lips quivering as she spoke. “It’s not much,” she said hoarsely. “But we thought it would bring you luck.”

Chowder nodded. “Got your back, Bitty. Even there, we’ve got your back.”

Bitty unfurled his fingers to discover a small, gold pendant. On it was a rabbit caught in mid-jump.

“It’s an Echohare,” Caitlin said with a soft smile. “Something the Capitol’s never been able to track.”

Bitty wanted to cry, wanted to throw his arms around them and never let go, but the Peacekeepers were there again, all but dragging Chowder from the room. Caitlin blew him one final kiss and let her hand rest over her heart in a gesture of love, of mourning. Unlike Chris, she knew Bitty would not be coming back.

Bitty clung to the pin like a lifeline as they shepherded him onto the train with Jenny. He knew it wouldn’t bring him luck, but he hoped that it kept Chris and Caitlin close to him in his final moments. The thought was oddly comforting.

 

* * *

 

 

The mentors from District Nine were, surprisingly, not much older than Bitty himself. He remembered both of them from their years - they’d won back-to-back not too long ago, the two lucky misfits from Nine. The District had carried that pride for a long time, having two victors after so many years of loss and pain.

Larissa - “Call me Lardo. Larissa died in the arena.” - had grown up working in the fields with her parents and knew her way around scythes and machetes and all sorts of industrial blades. The Careers had been blindsided by this tiny girl and Lardo had played the part well. Bitty had watched, in horror and fascination, as she lured three of the Careers in by painting her clothes with crimson-colored juice and screaming in pain. “Easy prey,” one of them had said. Then an axe had cut through his throat, and Lardo’s clothes had been painted in real blood. They still replayed that moment during coverage of the games - it was certainly something that would go down in the history books.

Shitty - and he refused to tell Bitty his real name - had won in a much less exciting way. He’d hidden and outlived everyone else as they froze to death in the tundra of an arena. When asked how he lasted so long without proper supplies, Shitty and shrugged and very casually said, “I naturally run hot, I guess. Built like a heater.”

The two of them were an odd pair, and honestly not what Bitty had hoped for in mentors. But Shitty was more or less cuddling Jenny as she cried into her hands, making low, shushing noises of comfort as the train hurtled across barren fields. The sight of it warmed Bitty’s heart.

Lardo sat down next to Bitty on the sofa, sipping at a glass of some drink Shitty fondly referred to as “Tub Juice.”

(“Because it tastes like the ‘shine me and my brothers whip up in our tub!” He’d explained excitedly. “But, like, fancier.”

“Mhmm,” Lardo said with a nod. “They call it ‘vodka.’”)

“Tell me about yourself, Eric,” she said, leaning back against the absurdly soft cushions. “And I don’t mean, like, family crap. What are your skills? Weaknesses? Shits and I, we’re determined to have one of you guys as a victor. Help us help you.”

Bitty shrugged, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I’m a baker’s apprentice,” he said glumly. “I can bake. That’s about it.”

Lardo examined him shrewdly, then took a long sip of her drink before saying, “Do you lift things? I’ve seen those sacks of flour and sugar and shit, they’re heavy as fuck. I assume you can build a fire, so at least you won’t freeze to death. You’re small, so hiding should be easy. You’re probably familiar with edible plants, at least to some degree.”

Bitty nodded. These were all true, when he thought about it: he could make a fire with the scantest of materials and often collected berries and herbs for the bakery. And he knew from his experiences at school that he was _very_ good at running and hiding from people much bigger than him. The odds - though definitely not in his favor - seemed slightly less grim.

“You’re probably best with smaller weapons,” she mused, reaching out to grab his wrists. “Soft hands, I’ll bet. Good with something that requires delicacy, throwing knives or a staff, maybe. How’s your climbing?”

It was soothing, in a weird way, to talk about his strengths and vulnerabilities with Lardo. He knew what he could do to survive, and Lardo kept throwing out suggestions of things he should practice in the little bit of time they had between now and the games. Hand-to-hand combat, climbing, setting traps - Lardo knew her stuff. It no longer surprised him that she’s won her games at such a young age - 13 - or that she’d volunteered to be a mentor.

It made sense, too, that Shitty went along with her. For all of Lardo’s cunning and shrewd practicality, Shitty was an uplifting, gentle presence. He was strangely tactile, always hugging Jenny and rubbing Bitty’s shoulders and ruffling Lardo’s hair. It was like having a big brother accompany Bitty to his death, and Bitty was incredibly grateful.

But for as calm as Bitty was for the few days they were on the train, Jenny seemed to get worse. By the end of it, she was pale and silent, already a ghost before she was even dead. Shitty tried to cuddle some life into her, list out her strengths and all the things she could learn before heading into the arena, but Lardo just shook her head at his attempts.

“We see this a lot,” she whispered to Bitty as they washed their faces with the heavenly, Capitol soaps. “Some kids crack under the pressure of knowing they can’t win. They’re the ones who always try kill themselves beforehand...and they never succeed. Too many safeguards.” She laughed darkly into the drink she’d been nursing all morning. “The Capitol wants their tributes alive.”

“Guess I'll have to be your victor then, huh?” Bitty joked with a nervous laugh. But the look Lardo gave him was dead serious.

“Guess you will.” The corners of her mouth twitched up, and she slapped Bitty on the back. “We’ve got lots of work to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

They watched reruns of the other reapings when conversation on the train lulled. Jenny usually left when Shitty turned on the screen, but Bitty sat between him and Lardo and watched with a morbid sort of fascination as twenty-two other kids became tributes.

A red-headed kid - and he couldn’t have been older than Chowder - from District 3 tried to fight the Peacekeepers as his name was called. Bitty gasped as they beat him unconscious and dragged him up to the stage, bruised and bloody. The other tribute -  a short girl with fiery eyes - held him up on her own as the escort congratulated them on the honor.

In District Five, the female tribute - a poor, small thing named Mandy - threw up on her way to the stage. In contrast, the male tribute looked calm and collected as his name was called, hands shoved in his pockets and head cocked to the side. Bitty was almost certain he heard the boy tell one of the Peacekeepers to “chill.”

And then, District One. There was something about District One that Bitty couldn't get out of his head as he went to sleep that night. How the Careers had fought each other for the honor of volunteering, how they'd tried to _kill_ each other for the privilege of murdering dozens of other children. It made him sick to watch, until the tributes were announced.

The female tribute was surprisingly short, a pretty, blonde girl of eighteen named Camilla. She stood on the stage with her arms crossed, grinning in triumph. Several of the other volunteers were nursing wounds or - in one case - being carted off by medics. Camilla grinned like a cat, eyes and teeth unnaturally sharp - veneers, Shitty noted, filed to a point - and Bitty felt the blood drain from his face.

The male volunteer was something else completely.

He was a Career, as they always were from One, but he hadn’t exactly volunteered. His name had been drawn from the bowl and not a single boy in the district volunteered.

(According to the commentators, that was something that hadn’t happened in almost fifty years. Even Lardo looked shaken by the turn of events.)

“Now, Jack Zimmermann was expected to be tribute two years ago,” Caeser Flickerman was saying as they showed the film of Zimmermann’s name being called. “But he lost the honor to Kent Parson.”

Footage from Parson’s game played on the screen, Kent delivering the final, winning blow, staining the desert sand red with blood as he secured a victory.

“There's plenty of speculation as to why Zimmermann did not volunteer last year - he was notably absent from any post-game interviews with Parson, despite being long-time friends and rivals.”

Footage of two boys sparring played as Caeser continued talking. “Top of their class at the academy. But several sources reported that Zimmermann has been struggling with a morphling addiction that kept him out of the arena last year, and now, at eighteen, it's his final chance-”

“I don't get it,” Bitty said to Shitty as the screen began replaying clips of Jack Zimmermann approaching the stage. “Why would someone want to be in the games so _bad?_ To train for it instead of doing something useful? I mean, c’mon, I'll let any of them take my place, and I can live their cushy One lives, happy as a clam.”

Shitty snorted. “I think when your dad’s Bad Bob, you kinda feel obligated to become a victor.”

“Bad...Bob?” Surely Bitty would've remembered learning about a guy by _that_ name in his classes. But he was drawing a blank.

Lardo shrugged. “I think Bob’s more a deal in the Capitol and District One than anywhere else.”

Shitty continued, “Bad Bob won the Quarter Quell back in his day. Four tributes from each district - forty seven people to beat. Bad Bob probably killed at least thirty of them.”

“Probably?” Bitty asked. “Are we not certain?”

Shitty winced. “That was a mess of a game, and the Capitol’s tracking tech wasn't what it is now. They didn't even find the bodies of at least five of the tributes. But, on screen, Bad Bob killed about twenty five people. The Capitol _idolizes_ him. And now his kid is trying to claim some of that glory for himself.”

Lardo sighed. “Yikes.”

Shitty laughed. “Yeah, yikes is right.”

Bitty grimaced. “So he's the one I need to watch out for?”

Lardo and Bitty shared a look and laughed. “Oh, Bitty, you have no idea.”

  


* * *

 

 

Bitty’s stylist was a handsome, young man named Ransom and he was obsessed with Bitty’s hair.

“Bro, I'm serious,” he said, playing with the golden strands that flopped in Bitty’s face. “Undercuts are all the rage in the Capitol this season. You'd look _so good.”_

Part of Bitty wanted to say no, wanted to die looking like himself and not some Capitol toy. But Ransom was the first person in the Capitol to treat him like a human being, and that tugged at something in Bitty’s chest.

“Alright,” he said. “Shear me like a sheep.”

 _Then let them lead me to the slaughter,_ he didn't add. Ransom pulled out his tools - an electric razor and small scissors and so many gadgets and combs that it made Bitty’s head spin.

“You know,” Ransom said as he worked. “I didn't learn this at the Academy. I learned design and cosmetics and mods, but I didn't learn how to cut hair, which seems dumb in hindsight. A victor taught me.”

This surprised Bitty. “A victor? Taught _you_ something that wasn't killin’?”

Ransom laughed, broad smile infectious. “Yeah, funny enough. District Four, won several years back. Holster. He's a Capitol favorite and we met at a party. Visits me every chance he gets,” Ransom added, and Bitty could've sworn he sounded _smitten._

“He's a human disaster, really,” Ransom said fondly as he brushed hair from Bitty’s shoulders. “But he's been cutting his own hair since childhood. Has absolutely no sense of style, but can work a pair of old fashioned scissors like no one I’ve ever known.”

It was hard to imagine a victor as anything but a hulking shadow in the corner of Bitty’s mind, the personification of his imminent death. But the way Ransom spoke about this guy, he sounded so soft, so human.

“So what do you have in mind for the Tribute Parade?” Bitty asked, a little warily. Tributes from Nine tended to get swathed in absurd amounts of denim and decorative wheat stalks. Lardo liked to complain about her costume, where she'd been forced to wear a dress shaped like a literal bread basket. She claimed the parade alone was what fueled the murderous rage that kept her alive in the arena.

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Ransom said, perfecting the edge at the nape of Bitty’s neck. “I promise to make you look good. Some of the stylists tend to go overboard with their artistic visions, but I know firsthand how vital a good first impression can be. You'll look good, Bits, and the sponsors will think so too.”

Bitty smiled, wringing his hands together. “I'm holdin’ you to that, mister.”

Ransom laughed and continued with his work, chatting amiably about makeup and his Career.

“What's that pin?” He asked as he finished with Bitty’s hair, rubbing several delicious-smelling products through the top strands to give them shine and shape. “It's beautiful.”

Bitty looked down, fingers ghosting over the twisted gold. “My friend gave it to me. For luck.”

“The one you volunteered for?” Ransom asked, moving to pack his tools away. Bitty nodded jerkily, eyes starting to water.

“There's a saying we have in Nine: ‘Got your back.’ It might not be the most elegant motto, but it's something we have to live by. We take care of our own. I take care of the people I love. And this is how he wanted to have my back in the arena.”  

“Is it an Echohare?” Ransom asked. Bitty nodded, a little impressed. “The ears are longer than a normal rabbit, and the paws are furrier. It's how the Capitol created them, to be silent spies.”

“Too bad they couldn't find them again,” Bitty said smugly. Ransom laughed in agreement.

“Hold onto that,” he said, leaning against a counter. “Tokens like that are helpful in the arena.”

Bitty was taken aback. “Why? Do sponsors like them or something?”

Ransom shook his head and gave Bitty a sad look. “No. But they give tributes hope. And sometimes that's all that can keep you alive.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ransom came through, in the end. Bitty felt ashamed for ever doubting him.

“You looks hot, Bits,” Lardo said with a wink. “And Jen, seriously, you look like a Capitol model, it's ridick. The sponsors are gonna love you guys.”

Bitty and Jenny were dressed in identical silver jumpsuits, ridged horizontally like the grain silos that bordered the fields of District Nine. Long blades of silver sloped down their shoulders, glinting dangerously as Bitty twirled to see himself in Ransom’s mirror. Around their heads, Ransom and his team had braided golden feathers of wheat and barley into crowns. Everything glimmered under the bright lights of the salon, and Ransom’s assistants smeared a thick, gold cream across Bitty’s eyelids and along the ridges of his cheekbones to match.

“C’mon, Bits, Jen, they’re lining everyone up,” Shitty said, poking his head through the door. “Ah, fuck, Rans, they look ‘swawesome. Killin’ it, like always- oops, sorry, bad choice of words.”

Jenny, despite the layers of makeup on her face, went pale at the mention of killing. Bitty took her hand to keep it from shaking too much, and sent Ransom a nervous grimace before following Shitty out to the chariot.

This was the first time Bitty had really seen any of the other tributes. He’d watched them get reaped, of course, but seeing them in person was more…intimidating.

He saw the redhead from District Three, all cuts and bruises masterfully healed with the Capitol's best medicines. He and his partner were both scowling at everyone around them, especially the “chill” guy from Five. Bitty decided he liked the Threes. They seemed spunky.  

Ransom was tweaking Bitty’s outfit when the mentor from District Four - an alarmingly tall man with straw-colored hair - came over to them, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“Rans,” he said, scary face going soft as Ransom turned to look at him. “You look good.”

Ransom grinned. “And I see someone else dressed you today.”

The man barked with laughter. “Fuck off, man, I can be stylish when I want to.”

And then it clicked. _This_ was Ransom’s victor.

“District Nine this year?” The man asked with a grin. “Nice, bro, that's a step up from Twelve.”

Ransom shrugged. “The position needed filling and the gamemakers really liked my canary-in-a-coal-mine aesthetic last games.”

Bitty was suddenly grateful that he hadn't been Ransom’s tribute last year. He _remembered_ those yellow monstrosities.

“Oh, Bitty, by the way, this is Holster.”

Holster turned his attention on Bitty, grinning down at him like a giant, blonde bear. “Hey, brah,” he said, offering his hand to Bitty. “Nice to meet you.”

Bitty took the hand tentatively. “Likewise. Ransom’s told me a lot about you.”

This made Holster chuckle. “Has he? Well, I _am_ his best bro.” He wrapped an arm around Ransom’s neck, pulling them close together. Bitty wasn’t sure he’d use the word “bro” to describe their relationship, but Ransom and Holster were strange men.  

“Oh, fuck, dude,” Holster whispered, jabbing Ransom in the ribs. “Look at One. That’s...new.”

Bitty and Ransom turned to follow Holster’s gaze, and Bitty heard himself gasp.

Almost every year, District One was paraded around in bright colors and flashy sparkles. But, this year, their stylist seemed to have other plans for the Prodigal Son and the Fanged Lady. They both wore pale, shimmering robes and silver circlets on their heads, simple but well fitting. Ice-blue diamonds trailed up their cheekbones and around their eyes, accentuating their sharp features. Camilla’s hair had been lightened to a platinum color, a stark contrast to Jack’s raven black. Together, standing proudly in their chariot, they looked like the Career royalty that they were.

Holster whistled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn, they look good. But it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.”

“What?” Bitty really didn’t understand Capitol sayings sometimes.

“Your mom’s gonna sing?” Ransom asked, ignoring Bitty.

Holster punched Ransom on the shoulder. “Fuck off, man, leave my mom out of this.” But he was grinning, so Bitty assumed he wasn’t actually offended.

“Bits, time to load up,” Shitty called. Lardo was helping Jenny climb onto the chariot, holding her hand even after she’d steadied herself.

“Well, it was certainly nice to meet you, Mr. Holster,” Bitty said to Holster hurriedly. “But I’ve gotta get going.”

As he scurried away to where the chariot sat awaiting him, he heard Holster say to Ransom, “Brah, your tribute’s _adorable_. Itty Bitty.”

“You ready, Bits?” Lardo asked as Bitty hoisted himself to stand next to Jenny. “You guys are gonna rock it.”

“Smile,” Shitty said. “They only expect that serious, macho crap from the Careers. A lot of sponsors like happy tributes.”

Bitty nodded, plastering on his best fake smile. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured as the chariots began to move, pulling them out into the bright lights of the stadium.

Though he’d felt confident looking in the mirror with Ransom and Jenny, Bitty was starting to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t know much of Capitol fashion, but in Nine these costumes would be an embarrassment. He could imagine his father’s rolling eyes, his mother’s forced smile.

At least he wasn’t wearing cow hides like the poor tributes from Ten. That had to be _mortifying_.

It was obvious that District One was the star of this show; Jack and Camilla dazzled in their icy robes, standing proudly as they headed the parade. Bitty and Jenny paled in comparison to them.

But, it turned out, Ransom had one more trick up his sleeve. As their chariot turned, just in front of the President, the colors of their jumpsuits began to change. In a wave, the silver morphed to gold, then a burnt orange, to red, to pink, to purple, to navy blue - and then in reverse. Somehow Ransom - without ever having stepped foot in Nine - had captured the beauty of the sunset against the grain silos. Bitty caught sight of himself in one of the jumbo screens and was struck breathless. Whatever Ransom had done to his hair, it now mimicked the colors of the silo-jumpsuits. He could see Jenny’s braids do the same, the two of them synchronized in their perpetual sunset and sunrise. He hoped the gasps from the stands were a good sign.

They travelled the rest of the circuit like that, glowing brighter than dawn. Jenny took his hand, squeezing tight, eyes wide as she caught sight of them on one of the screens. Bitty smiled, genuine and awed, and the crowd cheered.

Without thinking, he held their hands up above their heads, a symbol of victory and solidarity in a game where neither would be true. But the audience ate it up, the two sunshine-drenched tributes from Nine presenting as a unified force. The screams and applause were raucous, and Bitty wondered what the reaction at home would be like. He liked to think his father would be proud of him right now, already playing the Capitol’s game. He hoped this would be where Chowder and Caitlin stopped watching - he wanted their last memories of him to be this, smiling and golden.

The chariots turned back towards the exit, and Bitty’s stomach dropped. The parade was ending and soon training would begin. Bitty would have to wake up from this costumed, well-fed dream and face reality: in a week’s time, it was likely that he would be dead.

  


* * *

 

 

Training was terrible.

The first day, Bitty and Jenny kept to themselves, working with small knives and building fires. The second day, though, Bitty found himself trying to spar with a simulation, flailing the sword around gracelessly. He nearly screamed when someone snatched the weapon from his hand.

“You’re going to hurt yourself like that,” Jack Zimmermann said gruffly. He tossed the sword aside and handed Bitty a wooden staff. “Here. Like this.”

“O...kay…” Bitty mirrored Jack’s grip on the staff, planting his feet firmly apart.

“Try to parry my hits.” Jack swung the staff at Bitty’s head at an alarming rate. Bitty let out an embarrassing squeak and ducked, dropping the staff to throw his arms over his head. Jack huffed.

“What was that?” He snapped. “I said to parry my hit, not duck and cover.”

“Sorry,” Bitty breathed, bending down to grab the staff.

Without warning, Jack swung the staff at Bitty again. Bitty tried to react, but instead just held his staff up in front of his face, eyes closed tight.

“You need to take this seriously,” Jack hissed, glaring at Bitty.  Of course, that might’ve just been how his face looked all the time.

Bitty wanted to shout back, “You think I’m _not?!_ ” Instead, he muttered, “We can’t all have _victors_ for fathers.”

When Bitty leaned back down to grab his staff, Jack struck again, using one end of his staff to swipe Bitty’s feet out from under him. He flew backwards and Jack stalked off, chucking his staff to the side.

Bitty gasped, every joint in his body reverberating with the impact of the fall. He could hear the Careers snickering in the corner, watching him, and remembered Lardo’s words before he and Jenny went off to training: _Keep your head down. Don’t let them target you._

A rough, freckled hand appeared in his vision. The red-headed boy from Three crouched next to Bitty, grimacing.   
"That looked like it hurt," Three said, not unkindly. Bitty took his hand and let the kid hoist him up. "Zimmermann has it out for you, huh?"   
Bitty shrugged. "It would seem so."

Three led him away from the sparring mat, over towards a few punching bags. “You’re from Nine, right?” He asked, positioning Bitty in front of the bag.

“Um, yeah, I am,” Bitty said. “I’m Bitty.”

For a moment Three’s eyes sparkled like he was going to make the “yeah, I can see,” joke that _everyone_ made when they learned his nickname. Instead, he just nodded and said, “I’m Dex. You know, like, plants and stuff, right? Aggie district, and all that.”

“Oh!” Bitty nodded. “Yes! I’m pretty good with identifying plants, edible versus poisonous, building fires… really, my only useful skills for the games.” He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward. Dex huffed a small, bitter laugh.

“Back home, I worked twelve hours a day in a factory. My only skills are lifting heavy shit and putting things together. But I got into a lot of fights, so my older sisters taught me how to throw a punch. I’ll teach you that if you teach me what not to eat in the arena.”

Bitty grinned. “Deal.”

It turned out that they were both fast learners - Bitty had the power to pack a mean punch, and once he knew where to aim and not to tuck in his thumb, he was rocking the bag back and forth  with quick, sharp jabs. Dex, in turn, drank in everything Bitty said at the plant identification station, pointing out the shapes of the leaves of hemlock and the deep blue juice of nightshade. As they talked, they were joined by the other tribute from Three, April. She listened as seriously as Dex, memorizing everything Bitty noted. By the end of the training session, they’d all built fires from some twigs and flint and Bitty was almost certain he could - at the very least - break Zimmermann’s nose before he died.

April, it turned out, had entered into a very tentative allyship with the girl from Six, March. March was tall and willowy, and though she didn’t look strong she exuded a confidence that Bitty envied.

March came over to chat with them as Dex went to grab some water, rambling on amiably about throwing knives and first aid, as cheerful as if she were talking about the weather. It was unnerving, to say the least.

They were pulled from the odd conversation by a sudden commotion. By the refreshments table, Dex had the boy from Five - Nursey, Bitty thought someone had called him - pinned against the wall. They were both shouting and Dex’s face had gone bright red.

“No fighting!” One of the trainers shouted, moving to pull them apart.

“Dex!” April cried, storming across the room. “You can’t afford to get hurt now!”

Bitty and March followed, ignoring the laughter of the Careers. Bitty caught Jack Zimmermann’s eyes for a moment - his face as stony and stormy as ever - and looked away quickly, focusing on Dex and Nursey.

“Is everything a joke to you?” Dex was screaming, fighting against a trainer and a peacekeeper to get to Nursey. “Stop telling everyone to chill! We’re all going to fucking _die_!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Nursey shouted back, a distraught look cracking through his calm mien. “You think I’m that stupid?!”

“Dex,” Bitty murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “He’s not worth it. You’ll just psych yourself out before the games even start.”

Dex deflated under Bitty’s touch, and he shrugged off the arms that restrained him. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed. “But if he tells me to chill one more time-”

“He won’t,” Bitty said, a little sharply. “Right, sugar?”

Nursey stared at him wide-eyed. “Uh, right.”

“C’mon, I hear they’re serving lunch soon,” Bitty said, leading Dex and April to the other side of the room. “And I still need one of y’all to teach me how to stabilize a broken bone. April, you said you’d done it before?”

As they went back to work, Bitty looked out across the room. The Careers were half sparring, half goofing off. Zimmermann stood a little ways away, concentrating on one of the plant guides, his sword discarded at his feet. Nursey was chatting with March, letting her show him how to throw a knife. He still seemed a little shaken, his shoulders hunched and tense. Nearby, Jenny was working to build a fire with the girl from Five, Mandy. They were sharing tentative smiles, talking softly as they worked. Bitty released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

As the tributes were escorted to the dining hall, April nudged Bitty’s arm. “What are you thinking of doing for the evaluation this afternoon?” She asked. Bitty shrugged.

“Not really sure. Maybe build a fire and lift some heavy things? I know you’re supposed to impress the judges but I’m just not that impressive. What about you?”

April shook her head. “I don’t know either. My mentor said to do something unique, play off my skills from the factory, but that’s not much. I could build something, maybe, out of the supplies given. I think that’s what Dex wants to do.”

Bitty bit his lip, thinking about the few skills he had from the bakery. He could lift, he could build a fire, he could bake a pie-

“Oh,” he murmured, a small smile stretching across his face. “ _That’s_ what I’ll do.”

 

* * *

 

 

As the girl from eight exited the evaluation room, Bitty’s stomach lurched. His name was called and he walked through the doors on auto-pilot, pulse racing. He was determined to make a mediocre impression - not low or high enough to catch the attention of the Careers. Bitty was good at being average, at slipping under the radar.

He had a fire going almost immediately. The judges rolled their eyes and returned to their eating and drinking, barely paying him any mind. This was okay - he didn’t need them watching.

From the plants station he grabbed roots and grains and the deep purple berries he was _pretty_ sure weren’t a cousin of nightshade. Bitty had baked pies and cakes during the most severe of rationing periods; he couldn’t do much, but he could do this.

Just before his time was up, Bitty had a makeshift tart of sorts, filled with a beautiful jam filling. It would taste plain, he knew, without spices or margarine, but it smelled heavenly. In the arena, it would tempt even the Careers, who’d grown up in relative luxury.

A little nervously, Bitty walked up to the judges table and set down the tart. He cleared his throat to capture the attention of two or three of the judges and gave his sunniest smile. “Thank y’all for your consideration.” Then he sped from the room, willing himself not to puke or pass out before he could get back to his room.

That night, as they gathered around the screen in the common room, Bitty couldn’t sit still. He’d fessed up to Shitty what he’d done, which had made Shitty howl in laughter. When they’d told Lardo she laughed just as hard and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know if that was incredibly bold or incredibly stupid, but I love you for it, Bits.”

He knew, realistically, that it wouldn’t have been a judge to eat the pie, if anyone had at all. They probably would’ve brought in an Avox to taste-test, in case Bitty _had_ used nightshade, and he almost felt a little bad. The pie wasn’t poisonous, but it _was_ laced.

The reading of the scores went quickly. Zimmermann got a ten, Camilla got an eleven. Dex and April both received scores of eight, and Nursey had seven. Poor, little Mandy only had a four, and Bitty could see Jenny deflate. When they reached District Nine, Jenny only received a three. Her eyes watered and she ran from the room, followed quickly by Shitty.

“And the male tribute from District Nine,” Caeser announced, looking at his teleprompter. “Eric Bittle received a score of... _ten_.”

Bitty felt like he’d been punched in the chest. Lardo gasped and clapped him on the back, laughing. “Holy shit, dude,” she said, eyes growing wide. “You’re up there with _Zimmermann_. Holy crap.”

Bitty chuckled nervously. “Someone must’ve eaten a slice,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “There was a crop of morpheberries,” he began to explain. He hadn’t told Lardo and Shitty _exactly_ what had gone into the pie. “In the plant station. When cooked they’re a powerful anaesthesia. Mama uses them back home for emergency surgeries in the fields.”

“Dude,” Lardo said again, raising her cup to toast him. “I can’t believe you tried to drug the judges.”

Bitty shrugged. “What are they going to do? Kill me?”

Lardo laughed, sharp and dark, and took a swig of her gin. “I think...You’re gonna do okay, kid. You’ve really got a chance.”

Bitty smiled at her and received a soft, sincere smile back.

 

* * *

 

 

The interview with Caeser Flickerman was something Bitty was dreading the most. He knew he was personable and outgoing, but the idea of sitting in front of people who would cheer when he died and answering questions about his life in Nine all seemed too much to handle.

“I thought I was going punch Flickerman,” Lardo admitted as Ransom adjusted the hem on Bitty’s pants. “Instead I was just really quiet and kinda awkward. I think that’s why everyone thought I was this sweet, shy little girl.” She shrugged. “Help me in the end.”

Bitty nodded, frowning a little. At home people always told him he was funny and flamboyant in his charisma, but he didn’t much feel like whipping out the Bittle Sass in front of the high-brow Capitol citizens. He thought of Chowder and Caitlin, how sweet and unassuming they were - sometimes on purpose to cajole Bitty into sneaking them cookies from the bakery. Maybe he would channel them, try to charm any sponsors who were watching.

The suit Ransom dressed him in was a dark, sunset red, paired with a wine-colored stain on his cheeks and lips. At his neck was a perfectly knotted bow tie, made from a shimmering, gold material. His hair was coifed, his shoes shined, and his Echohare pin stuck to the lapel of the jacket.

Jenny, alternatively, was swathed in a beautiful, purple gown, all tulle and ribbons. It made her look several years younger, and Bitty wondered if that had been Ransom’s aim. She had similar color added to her lips and cheeks and a gold ribbon tied at her throat. Bitty had to admit, they made quite a handsome pair.

As Jenny talked quietly to Lardo and Shitty, Ransom pulled Bitty aside. “So, I think you ought to know, the people of the Capitol have been referring to you as ‘The Boy Made of Light’ since you pulled a ten in evaluations. They remembered you from the parade and now they’re certainly going to remember you from that. Say something good out there tonight, keep yourself in their minds.”

Bitty sighed. “Like what? I- I’m really just trying not to puke, Rans.”

Ransom grinned. “Just try and say something witty. Also, at some point, tell Caeser that your designer added something a little special to your suit tonight. Flickerman _lives_ for that showy shit.”

Bitty nodded nervously. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. You’re…” Bitty hesitated, grimacing a little. “You’re not gonna, like, set me on fire, are you?”

Ransom laughed and shook his head. “No. Trust me. The sponsors will be watching you very carefully after tonight.”

Bitty nodded again and smiled weakly at Ransom, hoping that he was right.

Soon he and Jenny were shepherded into a line behind the studio stage, between the boy from Eight and the girl from Ten. Jenny was shaking with nerves, so Bitty reached out and took her hand. The shaking didn’t stop, but she did seem to relax a little.

At the front of the line, Zimmermann and Camilla looked unfairly stunning  - Camilla in a short, pink dress that sparkled with every movement and Jack in a sharp, gray suit. Bitty hated both of them an incredible amount.

Zimmermann’s interview was first. He was awkward and mechanical in his speech, not quite looking Flickerman in the eyes as they talked, but he was still such an intimidating presence. The crowd went nuts the moment he stepped out on stage.

“So, Jack,” Caeser said, and the audience fell silent. “How does it feel to be here, following your father’s footsteps?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “It’s an honor to be a part of these games. I’d like to make him proud.”

The crowd cheered and Bitty mimed gagging. Jenny and the girl from Ten giggled quietly.

“And I’m sure you will,” Caeser said. “He’s waiting for you backstage, isn’t that right? As your mentor. That must be quite a unique treat, learning from your father this way.”

Jack nodded tersely. “Yeah. He’s been very...inspirational.”

“Now, you all know me, I don’t like to gossip,” Flickerman said with a wink to the audience. “But a little birdie told me there was a bit of a...disagreement among the choice of mentors this year. I believe your old rival, Kent Parson, was _supposed_ to be joining us this year…?”

Bitty couldn’t be sure as he watched the small screen backstage, but it looked like Jack went very pale at the mention of Parson. “There was a...miscommunication. Georgia Martin has taken his place instead as the second mentor, and she’s been nothing short of phenomenal in her coaching.”

Caeser gave Jack a knowing look. “I should know better than to weedle juicy details out of a serious Career such as yourself. Thank you for being a good sport, Jack. One more thing before you go,” he added, leaning back in his chair. “Will you, Jack, bring victory to the Zimmermann name for the second time?”

“I hope so,” Jack said quietly. “I’m going to try very hard to come back to my family. I just want to make them proud.”

“And so you shall,” Caeser said, standing to shake Jack’s hand. “Jack Zimmermann from District One! Everybody give him a hand!”

The crowd erupted into cheers.  Jack couldn’t get off stage faster, and he knocked into Bitty as he passed by, tugging at the buttons of his collared shirt. Bitty would almost be concerned by the harsh, drawn look on Jack’s face if he didn’t, y’know, hate Jack Zimmermann.

The rest of the interviews felt slow and drawn out. Camilla talked for a good, long while, surprisingly bubbly and casual in her conversation. It unsettled something in Bitty’s gut.

Eventually it was Bitty’s turn, and he was pushed out onto the stage, nearly blinded by the lights that shone down on him. He smiled and shook Caeser Flickerman’s hand, then waved at the audience like Shitty had instructed. The cheering increased and he almost sighed with relief.

“So, Eric - or can I call you Bitty?” Caeser asked, leaning forward towards Bitty. “Word around the Capitol is that’s a nickname from back home.”

Bitty nodded and kept smiling. “Yes, my friend Chowder gave it to me when we were small. And you can most certainly call me that, Mr. Flickerman.”

He gave his best “aw shucks” face - the one that always got him out of trouble in school - and grinned as the crowd laughed.

“Please, Bitty,” Caeser said. “Mr. Flickerman is my father. But your friend Chowder, you say? Are nicknames a big thing in Nine these days?”

Bitty shrugged and laughed. “They’ve been a big part of the field worker culture for a while now, but I think a lot past tributes from Nine have been too intimidated to use theirs here.” He leaned is, as if to tell Caeser some great secret. “I mean, when you have all these _Caesers_ and _Glamours_ and _Xenas_ , silly little names like _Bitty_ can seem so out of place.”

The crowd laughed again, though with him or at him Bitty wasn’t sure. “So, can we assume that this _Chowder_ is Christopher Chow, the boy you volunteered for?”

Bitty nodded, feeling his smile slip. He knew they’d bring Chowder up, knew they’d make him talk about it. “Yessir,” Bitty said, nodding slowly. “My best friend.”

The crowd aww-ed. Caeser held a hand to his heart.

“He must be someone very special for you to volunteer like that.”

Bitty knew what Caesar was implying, but he decided to play dumb. “He's like a little brother to me. Don't tell him I said this,” Bitty stage-whispered. “But he's really the light of my life. I couldn't imagine living without him, so I knew I had to go in his place.”

Cooing and cries from the audience almost drowned out Caesar’s response. “Well, I'd think he'd probably say you're the light of _his_ life now. And, after that beautiful show at the parade, I'm thinking we could all say that.” He chuckled, and the crowd followed suit.  

Ah. This was Bitty’s cue. “Yes, my stylist is so incredibly talented. And he added something special to my suit tonight - would you like to see?”

Caesar’s eyes lit up and the crowd cheered. “Oh, please, we’re all very eager to see more of Ransom’s work. He's quite the up and coming stylist.”

Bitty stood and stepped forward, catching Ransom’s eye in the front row. Ransom - and Holster beside him - gave Bitty goofy twin thumbs-ups, and Ransom hit a button on a small tablet.

On the screens surrounding the stage, Bitty watched along with the crowd as light crept out from behind him in shades of red and gold and purple, until he was completely silhouetted. The audience gasped and applauded and Caesar cried out in awe. Bitty smiled down at Ransom, trying to convey his gratitude through a look.

When the light faded, Caesar clapped Bitty on the back. “I guess it really is true what they're calling you, Bitty. Ladies and gentlemen, Eric Bittle from District Nine, the Boy Made of Light!”

The crowd erupted, as loud as they had for Jack and Camilla, and Bitty bit his lip. For the first time since volunteering, Bitty almost felt like he had a chance.

 

* * *

 

  


Bitty knew it was a bad sign when Ransom held up a black parka and thick, woolen pants.

“Oh, no,” Bitty said, shaking his head. “Please tell me they're not bringing back the ice floes from Shitty’s year.”

Ransom shook his head. “They wouldn't repeat an arena so soon. But they told me it's going to be cold.”

“Dammit,” Bitty muttered. “Couldn't give me one of those nice, forest-y arenas.”

Ransom helped him dress in silence, the atmosphere in the room growing tense. Just before he zipped up the parka, Ransom pinned the Echohare to Bitty’s shirt and winked.

“For luck,” he said. “I'm not allowed to bet on the games, but I'd bet on you, Bits. In fact-” he leaned in to whisper, giving Bitty a conspiratorial look. “Holster _is_ betting on you. He heard the judges talking about the pie you baked. When you come back, he wants to _really_ meet you.”

Ransom and Holster’s odd confidence in him was comforting, and perhaps that's why Ransom was saying all of this. Holster probably had money on Zimmermann, not Bitty, but it was a kind lie.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Ransom said, pulling Bitty in for a hug. “Stay warm. Stay hidden. Stay alive.”

“Thanks, Ransom,” Bitty whispered against his neck. “Thank you for having my back.”

Ransom nodded and pulled away, adjusting the parka zipper one more time. Over the speakers, a voice announced it was time for Bitty to enter the large, clear tube.

Clenching his fists, he stepped through the opening onto the small pedestal. The opening closed behind him and the voice on the speaker grew quiet and muffled. Ransom waved, jaw clenched tightly.

The the pedestal rose slowly and Bitty was hit with a slap of harsh, icy air. Snowflakes brushed against his skin and lingered in his hair; in seconds he was shivering.

The pedestals surrounded the large, metal Cornucopia in a circle. The ground, in the spots not covered in snow or ice, was dark and rocky. Tall, snowcapped crags surrounded them, jutting out violently from the ground. Bitty could see several cave entrances littered in the rock walls - if he could make it to one of those, maybe he’d be able to hide from the Careers away from the bite of the wind.

Lardo’s words came back to him: _grab the nearest pack or weapon and run_. Bitty looked around, spotting a backpack off to his left. To his right, Jenny was trembling on her stand, though Bitty could not tell if it was from fear or the cold.

Across the circle, Zimmermann and Camilla were both flexing and stretching, eyes darting from weapon to weapon. They would both brave the bloodbath.

(They would both _be_ the bloodbath.)

Dex and April were exchanging looks, nodding towards different packs and weapons and eyeing the careers warily. Settled between Two and Four, they were in a precarious position, too close to danger to do anything but run far from the Cornucopia. April had her gaze trained on a bow and arrow settled in front of the Fours. Dex shook his head.

A few stands over was Nursey, face impossibly calm. His hands twitched and he bounced a little where he stood, but other than that he seemed ready to face whatever came next. Bitty envied his confidence, as forced as it may be.

The wind was howling in Bitty’s ears as the countdown began. “ _Ten...Nine...Eight…_ ”

For a brief moment, Bitty thought about jumping off the platform, letting them blow him sky-high to just...get it over with. But he could see his father’s disappointed face, his murmurs about Bittle pride and dignity. With a sinking feeling, Bitty wondered how proud his father would be when he watched his only son die scared and alone, far from home.

“ _Five…”_

Bitty’s breath hitched and he forced himself to focus. Grab the pack and run.

 _“Four…_ ”

Grab the pack. Nothing else. Run towards the cave, hope it leads somewhere.

 _“Three…_ ”

Bitty could feel Zimmermann’s eyes on him across the circle. He stared straight ahead, too scared to meet Jack’s gaze.

 _“Two…_ ”

This was it.

The cannons sounded and Bitty dove left off the pedestal, knocking over the girl from Ten in scramble to grab the pack. She screamed and punched him in the face, thinking it was an attack, but didn’t pursue when Bitty sprinted towards the closest cave mouth.

He skidded on the ice, his boots barely finding traction as he slammed against one of the tall, jutting rocks. Behind him, at the Cornucopia, someone screamed. With heart beating out of his chest, Bitty slipped the rest of the way into the cave without looking back.

 

* * *

 

 

The passages within the cave were narrow and labyrinthine. Bitty wandered for a good ten minutes before he found a small antechamber to bunker down in. There was no escaping the cameras, but the gamemakers would be focused on the bloodbath and the Careers for the next hour or two. Bitty had time to regroup.

As night fell, his knees and back were cramped from his hunched position. Bitty sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to calm himself down. He needed a weapon, a knife preferably; right now all he had to defend himself was a few hot coals and a sharp rock he’d picked up from the cave floor.

There was probably little left at Cornucopia, unless that was where the Careers were stockpiling their supplies - then there was _plenty_ at the Cornucopia, but going after any of it would be a death sentence.

Plus, there had to be food around here _somewhere_. Surely they wouldn’t send the tributes into an arena where they’d all starve to death before they could battle. Surely that wouldn’t make for an exciting game.

Bitty knew it was a bad idea to head out so soon, but he had strong eyesight and quiet footsteps. Back home, as a child, he was the best at playing hide and seek; the trick was to move when the seekers got too close, quiet and quick as a mouse, and hide in a place they’d already looked. This was no more than a giant game of hide and seek for Bitty, though the consequences were far deadlier.

Grabbing his pack, Bitty climbed from his nook, shuffling down the long, icy passage with bated breath. He peeked around every corner before turning, and soon he was poking his head out of the small cave mouth, staring up at a big, beautiful, probably holographic moon. Bitty took a moment to breathe in fresh air and look at the stars, then he was off into the dark of night, padding softly between crags and ducking behind rocks.

Overhead, the Capitol Anthem began to play, and photos of the fallen were projected in the sky. To Bitty’s surprise and relief, Jenny was not among them, though his gut clenched at the sight of the youngest tribute, a twelve-year-old boy from Seven, staring down at him forlornly from amongst the stars.

The final canons of the night echoed through the arena, and Bitty counted eleven. Almost half of the tributes were already dead in the first day alone. Whether this spoke to the Careers or the arena, Bitty wasn’t sure, but either way he knew he didn’t have long to live.

He began tiptoeing between the rocks again and nearly screamed when he stepped on something large and soft.

The thing grunted and Bitty realized it was a boy - _no_ , not just a boy. It was Jack Zimmermann, covered in blood and half-conscious.

A thousand thoughts flitted through Bitty’s mind: How did he get this way? Why didn’t his attackers finish the job? Should Bitty run the risk of letting him bleed out, like his attackers, or speed up the job? All Bitty had was his rock, but it was sharp enough to jug through the skin at Jack’s neck, if he was smart about it-

Jack groaned, clutching at the gash in his side, and Bitty knew what he was going to do, as much as Lardo wouldn’t like it.

The fact that they were not ambushed as Bitty all but dragged Zimmermann to his nook in the cave was an absolute miracle. He could feel the cameras on him, could hear the tiny sounds of zooming lenses, and maybe that was it - the gamemakers wanted to see what he would do with a Career in his care. They were probably holding all attacks at bay deliberately.

Bitty was not a skilled healer, but he’d learned enough from his mother over the years to know that Jack’s wound needed to be cleaned and bandaged.

He was loath to sacrifice the blanket from his pack, so Bitty stripped down to his basest layers and pulled off his undershirt. Using the knife he stole from Zimmermann’s boot, Bitty cut up the shirt into strips. He wished for the grain alcohol his mother used to wash the injuries of the field workers as he pulled away Zimmermann’s layers to reveal the gash under his ribs.

Bitty sacrificed half of the water from his pack to clean Zimmermann’s wound, biting his lip as blood washed away and he could see the cut more clearly. It was not too large, but clearly very deep. Bandages alone would not stop the bleeding.

Bitty poked at the coals of the fire he’d built from fire-starter kit in his pack until he found one still burning white-hot. He held the blade of Zimmermann’s knife to the fire, until it glowed with heat.

“I want to say I’m sorry about this,” Bitty said to Jack, pulling out the belt from his pants loops to shove between Jack’s teeth. “But you probably killed half those kids out there today, so I’m really, really not.”

Jack screamed at Bitty pressed the knife to his side, teeth clamping down into the leather of the belt. His grunts and muffled cries reverberated through the cave, and he blacked out for a few moments as Bitty finished cauterizing the wound.

Bitty wondered if he should just slit Zimmermann’s throat. Here he was, passed out and weak, his knife clutched in Bitty’s hand. It would be the smart thing to do. Lardo would’ve cut his throat the minute she found him on the ground.

But Bitty wasn’t Lardo. He wasn’t built to win the games like that. Either he’d outlast everyone, as Shitty had, or he’d die without blood on his hands. It’s how Chowder would’ve played the game.

“Who did this to you?” Bitty mused out loud as he washed off his hands and began wrapping the makeshift bandages around Zimmermann’s waist. “I need to know who to avoid. They’re clearly going to win the games if they got the jump on _you_.”

Jack, still unconscious, did not answer. But the bites marks on his arms told Bitty all he needed to know.

Camilla Collins would win this game.

Bitty found himself hoping that she wouldn’t be the one to kill him.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Jack was breathing easy and sleeping soundly, Bitty left. His nurturing instincts had influenced his decision to save Jack Zimmermann, but Bitty wasn’t naive. Jack would kill him the minute he was conscious, so Bitty packed up his bag, tended the dying fire, and stole Zimmermann’s knife before slipping out into the main tunnel. Today he would explore a little further, see if he could find a food source or new hiding spot.

As he moved deeper into the cave system, he heard an unmistakable sound - running water, close by. Bitty hurried his pace, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt.

A steep, slippery path led down into a large cavern, and Bitty fell to his hands and knees as he landed at the bottom. He froze, uncertain and panicked, when he saw someone else already kneeling and drinking from the underground river.

The boy - maybe thirteen? Fourteen? - was decidedly not one of the Careers, but Bitty kept his steps slow and quiet as he ducked behind a clump of stalagmites. He vaguely remembered the kid from training, called himself Tango and asked a ridiculous amount of questions. He seemed sweet and Bitty knew he wouldn’t have the heart to kill him.

As it turned out, however, he _did_.

Tango took two, three long, greedy gulps of the water, scooping it out of the slow, dark stream with his hands. Bitty wished he would leave soon, knees cramping as he hid behind the ice and rocks.

Tango stood, seemingly sated, then fell to the ground convulsing. His breaths came in short gasps, and Bitty raced to his side, throwing caution to the wind.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Bitty cupped Tango’s face in his hands, smoothing back hair from the boy’s face. “Hun, stay with me, you’re going to be okay-”

Tango gasped, tears pooling at the edges of his eyes, and let out a pained whimper. White foam was bubbling between his lips, muffling his cries. For the hundredth time since he’d volunteered, Bitty was struck by the cruelty of the games; if the Capitol was going to murder 23 children, couldn’t they at least make it as painless as possible? No one deserved such a slow, excruciating end.

( _No one but the gamemakers,_ Bitty thought to himself. How he’d like to serve this water to the President-)

Once, when Bitty was a child, he saw a rabbit that had been caught in a plow. It was still breathing, just barely, and whimpering in pain as it bled into the dirt. Chowder had cried and cried, determined to nurse it back to life, but Mama had shooed them both away, saying that she would take it somewhere where it wouldn’t be in pain. But Bitty had snuck back and watched as his mama - his kind, gentle mama - snapped the rabbit’s neck. He understood, now. Bile rose in his throat and he quietly unsheathed the knife he’d stolen from Zimmermann.

“You’ll be okay, darlin’,” he whispered, wiping at Tango’s tears. “The pain’ll be gone soon. I promise.”

Hands trembling, Bitty pushed the knife into Tango’s neck, where he knew there was an artery. Tango made a distressed choking noise and blood gushed out at an alarming rate, soaking through the knees of Bitty’s pants, but he hummed and squeezed Tango’s hand, shushing him as he struggling to breathe. In minutes, the boy stilled, eyes staring blankly at the cave ceiling. From far above the ground, a cannon fired.

Bitty fell back on his ass, struggling to breathe through his gasping sobs. His hands and knees were soaked with blood, the scent of it thick and nauseating. Bitty wiped his hands off on the sleeves of his parka and shuffled back away from Tango’s body.

Idly, Bitty wondered how they would retrieve Tango’s body. In past year’s he’d caught glimpses of helicarriers descending from the sky to take away fallen tributes, but they were buried deep beneath the ground. Maybe they’d leave him here until the games were over. Maybe _that_ was the only food source they’d be providing.

Bitty shook these thoughts from his head and forced himself to stand. Tango didn’t have much on him - a water bottle and a length of rope - but Bitty stowed them away in his pack. With a sharp look at the nearest camera, he closed Tango’s eyelids, letting his thumb linger on the boy’s cheek. He hadn’t even lost most of the roundness in his face, as young as he was. Bitty held back more tears and cast his eyes towards the river.

Thinking of the gamemakers, of the President, of the Careers, Bitty filled Tango’s bottle with the poisoned water and stowed it away again. At the very least, maybe some unsuspecting Career would drink it after they’d murdered him and stolen his pack.

Then, thinking of Tango, of Jenny, of Dex and April and Nursey, Bitty took his knife and carved six large letters into the rocks next to the river: POISON.

Perhaps it was a stupid move: the more people who poisoned themselves, the greater Bitty’s chance of survival. But Bitty couldn’t bring himself to care.

His hands shook as he climbed through the narrow opening, back into the main tunnel. Had killing Tango really been an act of kindness? He thought of his mother and the rabbit, but a small voice in the back of his head whispered _murderer_. He’d killed someone. He was part of the game now, whether he liked it or not. There was a tally next to his name in the rosters, placing him above all the children who died in the bloodbath. He was among the ranks of the Careers.

Bitty paused to empty the contents of his stomach, clutching at the icy cave wall for support. He trembled with each retch, all too aware that there wasn’t much left in his stomach to throw up - he hadn’t eaten since the morning of the first day, when Lardo had plied him and Jenny with a plain but large breakfast.

(“You need to eat more protein, Bits,” she said seriously. “You don’t know how long this will have to last you.”)

As he rested against the cave wall, something deep beneath his feet began to stir. A low, loud rumbling echoed through the tunnels and then the ground beneath his feet was splitting in two neat halves, shifting away from each other to reveal a sharp, dark drop. With a yelp, Bitty jumped to one side of the tunnel and watched in horror as the cave shifted and turned, moving to connect with a new opening. Everything latched into place with a thud and a click, and after a moment of tense silence, Bitty tentatively stepped into the new passageway. Was this a random shift in the caves, or were the gamemakers pushing him towards danger?

Of course, it had to be the latter. Almost as soon as he crossed the threshold, the caves behind began to shift again, this time completely blocking off the exit behind him. He had no choice but to go forward.

This new path ascended steeply, and as Bitty climbed the world grew lighter and lighter, until he was crawling out to the ground above, blinking in the cloud-veiled sunlight of the arena. The rocks sloped downward, and Bitty thought with a sinking feeling that he was probably very close to the Cornucopia. He moved slowly forward, treading lightly and ducking behind the outcroppings that littered the hill.

As soon as he caught sight of the ring of pedestals, he knew why he’d been pushed this way. The Careers from Two were nowhere to be seen, but Camilla was crouched on top of the Cornucopia like a cat ready to pounce.

Then Bitty saw two figures approach the circle from the other side of the arena and covered his mouth with a hand to stop himself from calling out. Jenny and the girl from Five, Mandy, darted out from behind a rock to grab at some of the weapons still littered around the area - as bait, Bitty was now realizing. This was Camilla’s trap, and the gamemakers were playing into it.

Time slowed as Bitty thought through his two options: try and save the girls, or hide. Were he a braver man, perhaps he’d die heroically to save Jenny. But Lardo’s voice in his head told him to stay down, so he did, peeking out from behind the rocks.

He wondered what Jenny’s parents were thinking, right now, if they were watching. (Of course they were watching - the parents always did, no matter how much it killed them.) He wondered if they would blame him for Jenny’s death. He wondered if he would blame himself.

Camilla, to her credit, didn’t toy with her prey the way so many Careers did. She leapt from the Cornucopia with ease, a small, silver axe in hand. Mandy barely had time to scream before she was cut down, hands clasped at the gash in her throat. Jenny didn’t make a sound as the axe split through her skull. Both girls collapsed to the rocky ground and two cannons sounded.

Bitty slumped further down behind the rocks, burying his face in his hands. Jenny hadn’t stood a chance - even Shitty admitted that in the end - but to watch her die and do nothing about it...Bitty felt sick.

Camilla disappeared inside the Cornucopia - either to regroup or to wait for her next victim - and Bitty slowly backed away from the circle, darting over the ridge to find a new cave entrance. He had to hide, he had to run, hadn’t the gamemakers tired of him yet-?

As if in response to his thoughts, a howl pierced through the silence of the arena. Bitty’s blood ran cold at the sound. It seemed awful early in the games to bring out the Mutts.

At the sound of paws on ice, Bitty broke into a run. If he could lose them in the tunnels, he might have a shot, but Mutts were fast and deadly, and it sounded like these travelled in a pack.

Was this payback for not falling into Camilla’s trap? For letting Jenny and Mandy die? Or were the Mutts meant for another tribute, and Bitty was just positioned to be collateral damage?

Turning a corner around a tall crag, Bitty slipped on a patch of ice and crashed to the ground. The air was knocked from his lungs and he gasped, frozen on his back as the Mutts drew closer. He heard growling, panting, and braced himself for attack.

A shadow fell over him and there was a cry. The growling grew louder, along with angry barks, and Bitty looked up to see Jack Zimmermann fighting off the Mutts with a large sword. One fell at his feet, and the other three ran off, blood pouring from their sides. “They’ll be back,” Jack hissed at Bitty, pulling him to his feet. “We need to take shelter.”

“What?” Bitty let himself be dragged up the hill towards an opening in the rocks. It was small and he hunched almost in half to run alongside Jack. Jack tugged on his hand as he made a sharp left turn, and Bitty wondered what Chowder and Caitlin were thinking as they watched a Career pull Bitty to safety. Lardo was probably yelling at her screen, telling him to shake off Jack’s grip and run the other way, but Chowder...well, Bitty was happy that Chowder wouldn’t have to watch him get torn apart by a pack of Mutts. Yet.

In the distance, Bitty could hear howling. He squeezed Jack’s hand in fright, and Jack pulled him towards a small opening between two large stalagmites.

“Through there,” he whispered, and all but hoisted Bitty through. He followed shortly, the squeeze much tighter for his large frame. Bitty was almost certain that, were he so inclined, Jack could probably crush Bitty’s skull with his bare hands. Bitty had never met someone with so much muscle.

Jack pushed him down the narrow passageway until they turn a corner and entered a small cavern. The coals of a long-dead fire sat in the corner, and Bitty could see where Jack had cleared away rocks to make a place to sleep. A couple bloody bandages sat crumpled and abandoned nearby.

“We’ll be able to wait them out here,” Jack said softly.

Bitty huffed a small, bitter laugh. “Unless the caves shift again.”

Jack sighed. “Can you start up the fire again? I’m out of water.”

For one short, dark second, Bitty considered offering up Tango’s water bottle. It would be so easy.

But Jack had just saved his life, for whatever reason. So Bitty nodded and went to tending the fire, eyes never quite leaving Jack.

Eventually, the quiet that had settled between them got to be too much. “Why did you save me?” Bitty asked, warming his hands on the small flames he’d managed to produce. He couldn’t quite tell what the kindling was, but it looked like the handle of an axe or a similar weapon. Jack walked over and tossed the bloody bandages on one-by-one, watching as they caught fire.

“You saved mine,” he said, almost accusatory. “Now we’re even.”

Bitty frowned. “If we’re even, why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Jack asked, not looking Bitty in the eyes. He propped up three long stick - Bitty recognized them as the shafts of the arrows April had been eyeing - and used them to hand a long piece of cloth like a hammock. He had a collection of ice chips piled by his knees and he scooped them in to dangle next to the fire. Under the cloth he set his water bottle and sat back on his heels to wait. “I mean,” Jack continued, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. “You had my knife when I was at my weakest, and yet you used it to cauterize my wound instead of cutting my throat. Why?”

Bitty shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest. Tango’s blood on his pants had long-since dried, but the scent of it was still strong and unsettling. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

Jack frowned. “You could’ve left me to die when you found me. Why?”

“I don’t know!” Bitty cried, running a hand through his hair. The shaved sides still felt so foreign to him, so unlike District Nine. “I knew I could save you so I did. We weren’t all raised to be killers.”

Jack flinched at that and gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bitty wanted to argue, but Jack still had a sword and several inches on him; he snorted instead and muttered, “Sure.”

“You don’t,” Jack repeated, glowering at the slowly melting ice.

Sensing that Jack wasn’t actually going to elaborate on how Bitty was wrong about his upbringing, Bitty changed the subject. “So, I suppose you haven’t found any food around here, huh?”

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Though I haven’t really left the caves since you saved me.”

“Do you think there even _is_ any?” Bitty asked, picking up a pebble from the cave floor. He twisted it between his fingers and wondered if it, like so much of this arena, had been manufactured. “The only water source I found - other than the ice - was poisonous. Even if we _did_ find plants or animals, I’m not even sure they’d be edible.”

“Humans can go a few weeks without food,” Jack said softly. “The games don’t generally last that long.”

“‘Swawesome,” Bitty groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. “That’s just great.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “‘Swawesome?”

Bitty blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, it’s a thing we say in Nine-”

“I like it.” Jack grinned up at him, and Bitty realized he’d never seen Jack smile before. It was a sweet, soft thing and Bitty felt his shoulders droop, finally able to breathe easy.

Bitty’s stomach growled loudly and he groaned, pulling his parka around him tighter. Jack settled back against the cave wall, watching the ice melt into the bottle.

“What’s it like?” Jack asked quietly, not looking at Bitty. “District Nine?”

Bitty shrugged. “It’s...I don’t know, it’s home. Poor as dirt, but a strong community. After the harvest we have these big festivals,” he added, smiling a bit. “There’s music and dancing and as much food as can be spared. The poor are served first, and sent home with leftovers. We work hard and we take care of our own.”

Jack smiled, something soft and vulnerable. It made him look young, younger than Bitty almost. Bitty forgot that he was just a kid, too.

“That sounds nice,” Jack said. “What does your family do?”

Bitty pulled his knees to his chest. “My daddy manages one of the big mills. Mama works as a healer at the hospital. I apprenticed at a bakery.”

“So you could be baking us some bread right now?” Jack asked, and Bitty was floored to realize he was _teasing_ Bitty.

“You gonna go find me some wheat to grind into flour? Some eggs and non-poisonous water and yeast?” Bitty retorted and Jack laughed. “Here, let me just make some dough out of ice and rocks.”

Talking with Jack was surprisingly easy after that. They skirted topics like his father and training at the academy and stuck to simple things: what they did for fun, their friends back home, favorite foods.

“Seriously?” Jack asked, incredulous. “Your favorite food is _butter_?”

Bitty felt his cheeks heat up. “It’s pretty rare in Nine,” he said with a shrug. “The real stuff. We mostly use this replacement made of fat and oil at the bakery. Very occasionally my mama is able to get real butter from her...friends…” He hesitated, not wanting to reveal that it was the more easily persuaded peacekeepers in Nine who would bring luxuries back after leave. “It’s heavenly.”

Jack’s face fell. “Oh.” His favorite food had been Nanaimo, a chocolate dessert that could be very readily purchased in One.  Bitty had tasted chocolate maybe twice in his life.

“So, had you ever been to the Capitol before this?” Bitty asked, breaking his own rule about discussing Bad Bob. “I mean, your father must visit pretty frequently…”

Jack shook his head. “Papa wanted to keep me out of limelight,” he said. “All victors attain a certain celebrity status, but he was special. After a while my mother stopped coming to the Capitol with him, it was so overwhelming. They wanted me to have a normal life.”

Bitty couldn’t help it; he snorted and bit out, “Right, the normal life of training to kill people.”

“It’s all I was good at,” Jack said, voice softer and sadder than Bitty expected. “Fighting. Training. Kenny and I - we were unstoppable together. Papa didn’t want me to volunteer, I think, but he knew it’s all I dreamed about. The glory of it all, to be like him…”

Bitty huffed. “That’s ten sorts of messed up, Jack.”

Jack nodded, frowning. “Yeah, I know.”

Something occurred to Bitty, that he hadn’t thought of before. “Would you have volunteered if your name hadn’t been drawn?”

“ _No_.” The response was immediate, heated. Then, more quietly: “It was my last reaping…”

“Yeah,” Bitty sighed, tilting his head back to rest against the cave wall. “Mine, too.”

Jack looked at him curiously. “You _did_ volunteer. Why?”

“You heard my interview,” Bitty said wearily. “For my friend.”

“...just a friend?”

Bitty raised an eyebrow; he couldn’t believe he was having _this_ conversation with _Jack Zimmermann_. “Yes. Just a friend.”

Jack’s lips twitched into something like a smile. “You know, you probably could’ve gotten more sympathy points with sponsors if you told people he was your fiance or something.”

Bitty barked with laughter at the idea. “He’s _fifteen_ ,” Bitty choked out between wheezes. “And basically my baby brother, _gosh_. Mr. Zimmermann, you are something else.”

Jack laughed too, and his face softened as he examined Bitty. “You love him, though.” It wasn’t a question.

“More than life,” Bitty affirmed, shrugging. “ _Obviously_.”

Jack closed his eyes and sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “He’s very lucky to have someone like you,” he finally whispered, not looking up. “That kind of loyalty is rare.”

“Maybe.” Bitty followed suit, closing his own eyes. He was just so _tired_. “But he’s the kindest person I know, and I think kindness is a whole lot rarer. In Nine, at least.”

Jack hummed. “In One as well, I’d say. Probably all of Panem.”

They fell asleep like that, one after the other as the ice chips slowly melted into water. Jack’s sword laid between them, unsheathed, unused.

  


* * *

 

 

Bitty and Jack traveled together for about two days. They mostly stuck to the caves, emerging above ground only to scavenge for food.

When they stumbled across a berry bush, Bitty might have cried on Jack’s parka. Then they found a bird’s nest in the bush, stocked full of eggs, and Jack looked like he might cry too.

They had a feast that night, of berries and raw eggs and sweet roots dug from the frozen ground with Jack’s sword. In a weird way, it was one of the happiest moments of Bitty’s life: sitting around the fire built from the remains of the bushes, eating and talking and pretending the world wasn't falling apart around them.

But the peace of Jack’s company couldn't last. The gamemakers wouldn't allow it; they had a show to keep interesting.

Bitty and Jack were foraging again, hoping to come across another bird’s nest or even a bird. (“Protein is important, Bitty.”) The wind in the arena began to howl. Dark clouds rolled in at an unnaturally fast pace and snow began to fall in large clumps. They didn’t have snow like this in Nine, but Bitty had read about other districts - this was a blizzard and he was caught in the middle.  

“Jack,” Bitty said, tugging on Jack’s sleeve. “We need to get inside.”

Jack looked around and nodded. “Snow’s picking up.”

They hurried back towards the cave entrance, Jack ahead of Bitty by a few feet. The snow was blinding now, thick sheets swirling around them. Jack was no more than a shadow in the whiteness.

“Straight ahead!” Jack shouted. “Hurry!”

Bitty quickened his pace, slipping across the ice and tamped-down snow. It was like Jack had been built for this kind of weather, he maneuvered it so well. Bitty couldn’t keep up, but Jack shouted back at him every few second, leading him with the muffled sound of his voice. “I see the cave!” He shouted, sounding further away than before. “Hurry! It’s closing! They’re closing it off!”

With a burst of speed, Bitty bolted ahead, arms outstretched as he ran blind. Jack’s footsteps grew quieter and Bitty could hear the shifting of rocks and gears. Then his palms slammed into solid stone and he let out a wail.

“Jack!” He cried, beating against the rock wall with his fists. “JACK!”

But the cave was closed, Jack on the other side, safe. Bitty ran along the edge of the outcropping, desperately feeling for any other entrance.

The gamemakers must’ve felt sorry for him - or perhaps they had a nastier fate planned - but after ten minutes of frantically searching the stone wall for any sign of opening, rocks began to shift again and he stumbled through into the icy cave, shivering violently.

The opening closed up and Bitty was left all alone, once again fending for himself. But that was nature of the games, wasn’t it? It felt different this time, being alone. Bitty set to work finding a place to bunker down, trying very hard not to think about how he already missed having Jack by his side.


	2. PART II: when all those shadows almost killed your light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See bottom notes for a list of all the major character deaths for part ii, if you’d like to know ahead of time.

 

Bitty was awoken by screaming. He wasn't sure who it was or where they were, but it didn't really matter. He was on his feet in seconds, grabbing his pack and sprinting towards the main tunnels. 

He was met in the tunnels by a fast-moving, blue fog. It brushed against his elbow and - with an embarrassing shriek - Bitty jumped away. The material of his parka glistened with frost where the fog had touched, then began to disintegrate, black flakes falling to the cave floor. Bitty took this as his cue to run. 

The caves had shifted while he slept, Bitty was almost certain. The tunnel was quickly becoming less rock and more ice, but he didn't have time to worry about slipping. The fog was matching his pace, nipping at his heels. 

At the speed he was going, Bitty practically skated across the ice. It would've been exhilarating if it hadn't been so very terrifying. 

Then he was pulled off course, falling onto hard stone as two gloved hands dragged him through a small passageway.  

"Bitty, are you okay?" 

It was Dex, crouched over him, hands still on Bitty's arms. 

"We need to keep moving," someone else said and Bitty looked up to see that April and - shockingly - Nursey were further down the narrow tunnel, waiting for Dex.

“C’mon,” Dex said, tugging at Bitty’s arm. “Let's go.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Allying with Dex, April, and Nursey was...odd, to say the least. He knew Dex the best of the three of them, though Bitty was certain that, in another life, he and April would’ve gotten on like a house on fire. She was serious and cautious, but when she relaxed her dry wit had Bitty in stitches. 

Nursey was an unknown, but Bitty didn’t think he needed to feel threatened just yet. Nursey helped him gather some brush for a fire and didn’t seem the type to gut Bitty then and there. Like him, these three were unwilling participants in a sick game. As long as they had a common enemy, they served as no threat to Bitty. 

That first night, they sat around the fire and talked about home. Dex and April both spoke angrily about their labor in the factories, but their faces softened as they described their families. Bitty glossed over his apprenticeship at the bakery, but told them stories of playing in the fields with Chowder as a small boy that had even Dex grinning by the end. Nursey didn’t talk about his family or his work, and instead told them made-up stories about far-away places in ancient times, heroes and dragons and happy endings. 

When asked, he quietly admitted, “I started telling stories so my sisters wouldn’t have so many nightmares.” For a man of many eloquent words, Nursey was loath to say any more. 

The next day their stomachs rumbled loudly and Bitty shared his sweet roots, describing the plant he’d taken them from. 

“Oh, I saw a bunch of plants like that not far from here,” April said, chewing on her share. “Like, just over that hill.” 

“Oh!” Bitty leapt to his feet excitedly. “Oh, goodness, I’ll go get us some more. If someone can start us a fire,” he said, looking to Dex and Nursey. “Then I can roast them for us. It’ll almost be like having real food.” 

The others waved him off excitedly, setting to work as he climbed over the ridge. 

Just as April said, a crop of the spindly, pink flowers sat just on the other side, half in shadow. Bitty rushed over to them with a grin and pulled out his knife, chopping at the frost and snow that covered the rocky soil the way Jack had with his sword. 

As Bitty dug through the frozen soil, he wondered where Jack was. He hadn’t been paying attention to the cannons lately, and they were muffled by the caves. But April had been keeping track, and she’d maintained that  _ all _ of the careers were still alive. Bitty didn’t ask, but assumed District One’s prodigal son had been included in her count. 

Idly, Bitty wondered if he would see Jack again. The other Careers clearly had it out for him, but Jack was skilled enough to put up a fair fight. Bitty shook his head; he needed to be worried about himself and his new allies. Jack was fine. Bitty, probably, would not be for much longer. 

As if the gamemakers had read his thoughts, he heard a scream, followed quickly by a high, human howling. Bitty clenched his jaw and gripped his knife tighter. The sound came from their campsite.

As quietly as he could, Bitty darted back to the others, heart racing in his chest. As he approached the alcove they’d settled in, Bitty’s blood ran cold. It was the careers, led by an axe-wielding, sharp-toothed grinning Camilla. Dex had his staff in hand, poised to fight. April and Nursey only had small knives; they were greatly outmatched. 

But they were Bitty’s friends, so Bitty darted back towards them, skidding on the snow. All he had was his knife and a poisoned water bottle, but maybe he could help tip the scales just a bit-

Then the ground began to shake. There was a loud crack - so huge and resounding Bitty thought for a moment it was a cannon - and a chasm began to appear, split down the rock between him and the others. 

“RUN!” He shouted, scrambling back from the edge. “RUN!” 

Nursey and April turned to look at him, but Dex did not heed his pleas. He had the same look in his eyes that he had at the reaping, the same wild anger. He parried blows from two of the careers, smacked one in the face so hard that Bitty could hear his nose crunch from a distance, but it wasn't enough. The girl from Two ran him through with her spear, laughing as she did. 

Time slowed in that moment. Bitty watched in horror as Dex fell to the ground, mouth trying to sound out words that wouldn't come, the anger - the life - flickering out in his eyes. The sound of the cannon seemed muffled in Bitty’s ears. 

Then there was Nursey, roaring with grief and rage, picking up Dex’s staff and going after the girl from Two. “RUN!” He shouted at April. “GO!” 

The boy from Four knocked Nursey to the ground with his club, kicking at him again for good measure. Nursey scrambled to his feet, going after Two again, but she swept his feet out from under him like it was nothing. Bile rose in Bitty’s throat. 

Nursey went down and stayed down with the third blow, this one from Camilla herself. She'd been holding back, Bitty realized, to hide her true prowess from the other Careers. Bitty felt sick wondering if she'd learned that from watching Lardo.    
The cannon sounded, and April finally ran. The cavern between them and Bitty had grown and was growing still.    
Bitty could see it in her eyes as April bent down to scoop up her pack. She chucked it as she ran, and Bitty scrambled to catch it. He did, barely, and tossed it to the side almost immediately. Jaw clenched, arms open, Bitty braced himself for April's jump.

Camilla was on April’s tail, quick and silent. “Faster!” Bitty shouted, waving at April. “Hurry!” 

April didn’t need to look behind her to know she was being followed. The other Careers jeered and goaded Camilla on, but April ignored them. She leapt, just escaping Camilla’s grasp, hands outstretched and reaching for Bitty.

But the chasm stretched just too far. Bitty grasped at April’s fingertips, falling to the ground as he grabbed her by the hand. Camilla skidding to a halt on the other side, knowing that the jump was futile. 

“April!” Bitty grunted, clinging desperately to her hand. “Can you climb?” 

April scrambled to find purchase with her feet and free hand, but the sides of the chasm were solid ice, slick and smooth. She slipped down again, and Bitty was yanked halfway over the edge from the force. There was a dangerous resignation in her eyes. 

“Kill them,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “For us, Bitty, please. Kill them all.”

And then her hand slipped from Bitty’s grip and she was gone. It was a long thirty seconds before the cannon sounded.

The Careers laughed and cheered, high-fiving each other and pointing at Bitty. He was next. 

So Bitty did the only damn thing he was good at anymore: he ran. He ran and he hid and he cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. 

 

* * *

 

He knew the pain in his fingers was frostbite. If he couldn’t warm them up soon, he’d lose the use of his hands and that would mean imminent death. But Bitty couldn’t bring himself to move - the only tributes still standing out there were Jack, March, and what was left of the Careers. He could take March, maybe, but the others…

It surprised him that the gamemakers hadn’t chased him out yet. He suspected they were to blame for the frostbite, lowering the temperatures of the arena as the game got heated. The Careers were probably on a warpath to find Jack, and when they did - well, Jack was just one man. And then they’d turn on each other. Eventually, someone would find Bitty and March. Eventually there would be a victor. 

He heard the quiet  _ shhhff _ of something opening in the ceiling, and then there was a small, silver parachute drifting down towards Bitty. Reaching out with numb fingers, he caught the pod and fumbled with the latch until it opened. Inside were a pair of Thermo gloves, self-heating luxuries that never made it all the way out to Nine. Bitty stared at them covetously for a moment, then hastened to pull them on. There was almost an immediate relief as his hands began to warm and he looked around for the nearest camera. Failing to see one, he looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “Thank you.” 

As Bitty shifted, a piece of paper slipped from the parachute. He picked it up and read:

 

_ Shitty got lucky. They learned from him. You can’t survive like he did.  -L _

 

Part of him deflated at the note; he knew he needed to act, but the prospect of leaving his den was terrifying. The other part of him smiled, though, knowing that Lardo and Shitty must’ve kissed a lot of asses to get this kind of gift for him. He folded up the note and stuck it in his pocket, then picked up the parachute. It latched and unlatched with ease, and if Bitty had been asleep he wouldn’t have even noticed it until it landed on him…

Struck with inspiration, Bitty bolted upright and began poking at the coals of his fire, sparking it back to life. 

The plan was risky; if it failed, he would be out of food  _ and _ the Careers would be out for his blood. But if it worked...hell, he'd almost have a shot of winning. 

While he worked, Bitty could almost pretend he was back home at the bakery, making pies for Nine’s wealthier citizens instead of plotting murder. He hung April’s tarp between several stalagmites and filled the makeshift bag with water from Tango’s bottle. Then he collected several fist-sized stones - the driest he could find - and buried them among the coals to heat up. 

As he waited for the rocks, Bitty took a swig from the safe water bottle and hoped desperately that Chowder wasn't watching. Leaving Jenny and Mandy to die was one thing, but  _ killing _ someone? His best friend shouldn't have to see that. 

As soon as the rocks were glowing hot Bitty scooped them into the tarp to heat up the water. From his bag he dug out the rest of the sweet roots and dumped them in as well to cook. 

While the water bubbled, Bitty pulled out the last of the berries and began smashing them into a bastardized sort of jam. He mixed in a little bit of the poison water and stirred it with a thin rock. It would taste as good as one of his tarts back home but starving Careers wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late. 

When the roots had cooked Bitty fished them out and smashed them into a crumbly sort of paste. Very reluctantly, Bitty cracked one of the two remaining bird eggs over the root mash and stirred it in. As it cooled, Bitty shaped it expertly into a shell, saving a tiny bit for a lattice. Like he had in the evaluation, Bitty prepared a beautiful pie from almost nothing. It was his one real skill, and it was what he wanted to be remembered by. 

Before it could cool off, he packed it into the parachute and tucked the pod carefully away in his bag. Bitty knew he didn't have long to find the Careers - he couldn't be sure what time it was, but his internal clock told him it was still nighttime. They wouldn't be asleep for much longer. 

In the end, the Careers weren't hard to find at all. They’d kept their camp at the Cornucopia, the four of them sleeping in a wonky sort of square. One of them - the boy from Two - was propped up on one elbow, facing away from Bitty. 

Taking one long, deep breath, Bitty forced himself to imagine he was back home, playing hide and seek among the abandoned silos and mills. All he had to do was get close enough to place the parachute where they'd believe it has really been meant for them. 

With soft, light steps Bitty crept closer to the Cornucopia, barely daring to breathe. 

The boy from Two grunted and Bitty froze, clamping a hand over his mouth to mask his panicked gasps. But Two just shifted to lie down, staring out into the night lazily. Bitty nearly sighed with relief and moved forward, gently setting the parachute down next to Camilla’s pack. Then he backed away as softly as he came, not daring to turn and run until he was far away from the Careers. 

Hours later, as he was drifting off in his den, three cannons fired. Bitty smiled, pushing down feelings of guilt and terror, and drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

When he awoke, a parachute was perched on his stomach. Bitty eyed it warily, and held it an arm’s length away as he popped the latch. Inside was a small container of soup and a beautifully baked roll. Bitty’s mouth watered at the sight of it, but after his stunt last night he couldn't be sure. Still - where on earth would any of the other tributes get bread?

Tucked under the roll was another note, and Bitty expected a “Good job, kid” from Lardo. Instead, the note he found was much more jarring. 

 

_ Thank you for taking care of my son - in more ways than one. -B.Z.  _

 

Bitty didn't know why Bad Bob would be trying to help him at all. But his stomach ached at the sight of the bread and soup, so after only a moment’s hesitation he dug in, moaning at the warmth in his stomach and the salt on his tongue. 

He knew he shouldn’t miss Jack. There were only four tributes left; Jack was the enemy. But Bitty found himself dreaming of Jack’s body next to his, solid and safe. He missed Jack so much, he didn’t even think he would mind if Jack killed him. Jarred by that kind of thought, Bitty shook his head and concentrated on his food.

When he finished eating, Bitty tucked Bob’s note into his pocket next to Lardo’s and rested his head against the cave wall, feeling too full and sated to want to move. He knew he’d have to soon; it was almost time for the grand finale. 

“Thank you,” he murmured to no one. “That was a pretty good last meal, huh?” 

Sated and warm, Bitty drifted off to sleep, a soft smile on his lips. 

 

* * *

_ “Attention tributes,”  _ a voice said, echoing through the arena. “ _ You are invited to join us at the Cornucopia for an event - the Frozen Four. Three packs of Thermo gear await those of you who attend. And you  _ will _ need it. May the odds be ever in your favor.”  _

As if on cue, Bitty shivered. Was it getting colder? It has to be, why else would he and March even dare brave the Frozen Four? They were going to freeze them from their hiding spots. 

He waited in his den until even his fire couldn't keep him from shivering. The only warm spots on his body were his hands, wrapped in Lardo and Shitty’s gloves. He would die before the night was over at this rate; the gamemakers knew what they were doing. 

When Bitty emerged above ground, the sun was setting much more rapidly than was natural. It felt like he was falling into cold water that grew icier as he sank deeper and deeper. With a long breath that stung like needles in his lungs, Bitty headed towards the center of the arena. 

A long table had been set up in front of the Cornucopia, draped in a white tablecloth finer than anything that existed in District Nine. Bitty ducked behind a boulder, scanning the border of the circle for any signs of movement. 

Even in the dying light, there was no mistaking the tall figure across the way; Jack was half in shadow, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Like Bitty, he was clearly deliberating his choices. 

Bitty was surprised how much he ached to be near Jack again. But in Jack’s grasp was his long sword, blood red in the last of the daylight. Even if he hadn't volunteered, he  _ was _ a Career, had been trained for this his entire life. He wasn't Bitty’s ally anymore. 

They both stood on the edge of the circle, hesitating. Bitty was almost certain Jack hadn't seen him yet, which - maybe he could use that to his advantage. Jack was strong, but Bitty was fast. In a race, he was almost certain he could win. 

Before he'd realized he'd made a decision, Bitty was darting out from behind the rock, sprinting towards the table. He'd rather die quickly at Jack’s hands than slowly freeze alone. A morbid sort of calmness settled over him at this thought and he flew past the Cornucopia to grab the first pack. 

But Bitty should have known it wouldn't be as easy as outrunning Jack. The moment he reached the table, Camilla sprang out from within the Cornucopia, axe sailing towards Bitty’s head. He ducked and rolled under the table, barely making it out the other side as the axe smashed through, scattering the other two packs. 

Camilla let out a hiss and jumped over the remains of the table to swipe at Bitty again, grunted as her axe met stone. Bitty rolled just out of her reach, still gripping at the pack. 

But then a heavy-booted foot was pushing him back down and the silver blade of the axe came soaring towards his head. Bitty closed his eyes and thought of playing in the fields with Chowder and Caitlin when they were small, thought of Jack’s soft, blue eyes- 

The screech of metal against metal was unmistakable, and Bitty opened his eyes again to see Jack standing over him, blocking Camilla’s blow. Gaping, Bitty scrambled backwards out of her reach.

“ _ Run! _ ” Jack was yelling. “Bitty,  _ run _ !” 

But Bitty couldn’t run, couldn’t leave Jack to fight Camilla on his own. He slung the pack over his shoulder and unsheathed the knife at his belt. Camilla’s eyes glinted, like she was thrilled by the prospect of fighting both of them. (Or perhaps she was just laughing at Bitty. That was a very real possibility.) 

There was a cry, and then March had Camilla pinned to the ground. She didn’t have a weapon, just pummeled her fists into Camilla’s face with an unbridled rage. In her eyes there was no fear, only anger and sadness and the same unnatural sort of calm that had overcome Bitty not minutes before. 

March knew she would not survive these games. 

Jack seemed to recognize that, so he grabbed Bitty and one of the discarded packs and began to run. 

“We have to help her!” Bitty cried, trying to tug out of Jack’s grip. But it was too late; Camilla had found her axe again, blood dripping down her face. 

“March knew what she was doing,” Jack said quietly. “C’mon.” 

They ran as fast as they could towards the caves, never unclasping their hands. Bitty wanted to cry for March, but exhaustion was quickly settling in his chest and it took everything he had to stumble through the tunnels to wherever Jack was leading him.

They all but collapsed into Jack’s hideaway - no bigger than the pantry back home at the bakery - and as the adrenaline started to wear off, the cold of the night seeped into their bones. 

“Let’s get these packs open,” Jack said, pulling at the ties on his own. Bitty followed suit, and soon two Thermo sleeping bags were laid out side-by-side. They both crawled in without hesitation, sighing in relief as the bags quickly warmed their bodies. 

“They’ll expect us to fight Camilla soon,” Jack said after a moment, turning to face Bitty. “I think...I think we could take her down, together.” 

Bitty nodded and took a shaky breath. “Could we...could we not talk about her? For just a little while?” 

“Yeah,” Jack whispered, eyes fluttering sleepily. “Whatever you want.” 

“Why didn’t anyone volunteer for you?” Bitty asked, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. The question had been gnawing at him since Day One.  “It’s so unlike One not to have two volunteers.” 

Jack sighed. “I think...no one wanted to go up against me. Like, they all assumed this is what I wanted and that I would kill anyone who stood in my way.” He laughed darkly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe I would have, when I was sixteen. But back then I didn’t...I didn’t  _ understand- _ ” Jack’s voice broke and he clamped his mouth shut. 

“Understand what?” Bitty asked tentatively. 

“Seeing Kenny in the arena...where I was  _ supposed  _ to be...I know he won but he nearly died so many times in so many terrible ways. It never really occurred to me that it was more than just a game to win.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I never saw the other Tributes as real people, you know? Like, I don’t know, the way we talk about the other Districts in One, it’s like everyone but us are just Muttations - creations of the Capitol to dig coal and plow fields and...and die in the arena.”

Bitty was stunned to see tears on Jack’s face and, slowly, he braved the cold to reach out a hand. Jack grasped at it and pulled himself closer to Bitty, their bodies pressed together. 

“Everything changed after that. I couldn’t handle it. I...I already had a morphling problem,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper. “But it got worse. Even when Kenny came home a victor, I still...he killed so many people in that arena. Because that’s what we were raised to do.

“The morphling nearly killed me. Kenny went on his victory tour and I overdosed on the bathroom floor of the academy. If my father hadn’t been who he is...I wouldn’t’ve gotten the best doctors in the District. I probably would’ve died, alone and shameful like any other addict in Panem without our resources... Recovery was supposed to be about redemption, for all the things I’d done and believed…”

“And then you got reaped,” Bitty said softly, tears forming in his own eyes. “Oh,  _ Jack _ .” 

“ _ That’s _ why I never tried to kill you, Bits,” Jack said, wiping at his face. “I can’t be the monster they trained me to be. I’ll kill Camilla to keep us alive, but…” 

Bitty nodded, knowing everything Jack was failing to say. He leaned in and rested his head against Jack’s chest, listening with an odd sort of greed to the strong beating of Jack’s heart. 

“Why did you?” Jack asked after a few minutes of silence. “Volunteer, I mean. That boy who was reaped…?” 

“Chowder,” Bitty said with a fond smile. “He’s my best friend.” 

Jack looked down at Bitty with a funny smile. “A lot of people watch their best friends get reaped. Very few volunteer.”

Bitty shrugged. “He deserves a long life.” 

“And you don’t?” Jack sounded almost incredulous. Bitty hummed and nuzzling against Jack’s chest.

“Not like him. I would burn Panem to the ground to keep him safe.” 

There was a tense pause where neither of them spoke, then Jack’s mouth was on Bitty’s. The kiss was desperate and sloppy, both clawing out of their sleeping bags to grab at each other. Jack threaded his fingers through Bitty’s hair, thumb rubbing at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Bitty shuddered and ran his hands up Jack’s chest, fingers ghosting over the rivulets of muscle with a hungry fascination. 

“Sleeping bags,” Jack whispered, sucking lightly at Bitty’s jaw. “Zip together. Warmer” 

Later, they collapsed in the nest they’d made themselves, panting and swollen-mouthed. Not for the first time, Bitty hoped Chowder wasn’t watching, but now for an entirely different reason. 

Bitty curled up against Jack’s chest and they both drifted off, snuggled together like two rabbits in a den, safe from the wolves outside.

 

* * *

When Bitty came to, Jack was already awake, brushing back the hair from Bitty’s forehead. A small part of Bitty was surprised he’d woken up at all, that Jack hadn’t changed his mind and slit Bitty’s throat in the night. But Jack was staring down at him with soft, adoring eyes and a knot tightened in Bitty’s gut. 

“Kill me,” he whispered, reaching out to trace Jack’s cheekbone with a finger. “Please. I’d rather it be you than Camilla.”

Jack cast his eyes away, jaw tightening. “Do you realize what you’re asking me to do?” 

Bitty nodded, resting his palm on the side of Jack’s face.    
“I can’t...we need to beat Camilla first. I can’t do it without you.” 

“And after?”

Jack was silent for a long time. But Bitty was patient, and he stroked the hair from Jack’s forehead with his thumb. Eventually, Jack whispered, “A sponsor sent me morphling. I think it was a joke, or maybe they thought it would help me. You- you won’t feel a thing.”

Bitty smiled softly. “Promise?”

Jack nodded. “I promise.” 

Sighing, Bitty leaned up to kiss Jack softly. In a way, he always knew this boy would be the one to kill him. And he was okay with that. 

Jack and Bitty packed in silence, leaving out only their weapons. The air was still frigid, but the Thermo packs that had contained their sleeping bags also had sets of gloves, socks, and caps to keep them mobile enough for the final fight. 

Before he sheathed his knife, Bitty took out Tango’s water bottle and dipped the blade a few times. “Poison,” he explained to Jack, who watched with uncertainty. “From the river I found early on. If I can actually get close enough to Camilla to break skin, we might have a better chance.” 

Jack nodded, face unreadable, and finished zipping up his bag. He carried his sword in one hand and took Bitty’s with the other. 

They climbed above ground still clinging to each other and Bitty was surprised to see it was still night. Jack frowned, noticing the same thing. 

“We slept for a long time,” he said quietly. “It should be morning. They’re doing this on purpose.” 

A lump rose in Bitty’s throat; he was never going to see the sun again. 

“C’mon,” he choked out, tugging on Jack’s hand. “Let’s go.” 

It wasn’t certain where Camilla would be - she’d made the Cornucopia her home, but this battle was as much the gamemakers’ as it was theirs. It would happen where they wanted it to happen, so Bitty and Jack walked slowly towards the center of the arena, waiting for the first signs of action. 

They didn’t have to wait long, it turned out. Just before the Cornucopia came into sight, Bitty heard the telltale shuffling of paws on ice. He tightened his grip of Jack’s hand and nodded in the direction of the sound. A howl pierced the night and Jack’s eyes widened. 

“Run,” he hissed, and they both turned, sprinting and slipping away from the Cornucopia. Mutts howled behind them, then flashing eyes and fangs were coming in from both sides. Bitty could see the path they created before Jack, could see that they were being herded up to the highest crag, the one that overlooked the entire arena. At the edge it dropped off about a hundred feet, down into one of the cracks in the sheets of ice and rock. A perfect setting for a perfect finale. Bitty wondered if the wolf-Mutts would leave Jack alone if they managed to kill him - surely the gamemakers would prefer a duel between the two Careers over one getting eaten by giant wolves. 

But Bitty had no real desire to test that theory out. They would escape the Mutts, they would defeat Camilla, and then Jack would kill him as painlessly and peacefully as possible. It was the best ending Bitty could hope for. 

They climbed up the crag, Jack hoisting Bitty up ahead of him and swiping at the Mutts with his sword. The wolf-Mutts were so unrelenting that Bitty wondered just how, exactly, Camilla would manage to join them. 

But, of course, the odds had always really been in Camilla’s favor. As Bitty climbed to the peak of the crag, hoisting himself into a standing position, an axe sailed towards his head. He managed to duck - barely - and cried out to Jack. 

Jack swung himself over the ledge and dove towards Camilla, brandishing his sword. Camilla jumped backward, and Bitty thought she’d lost her grip on her axe when-

Intense pain burned in his gut and Bitty doubled over, screaming. Camilla had gotten ahold of throwing knives since they’d last battled, because of  _ course _ she had. Bitty gritted his teeth and pulled the blade out, against his better judgement. It didn’t really matter if he bled out at this point.

Jack parried several of Camilla’s strikes, dodging as she threw one of her knives at his head. Bitty watched in fascination as they dueled, the two tributes from District One, both highly trained killers.  _ The Capitol must be eating this up _ , Bitty thought.  _ This will be a replay for the ages. _

Then Jack’s sword was clattering to the ground, Camilla’s axe coming down on Jack’s neck. He grabbed Camilla’s arm and pushed - something that might’ve broken the bones of a lesser competitor - and the axe went flying over the edge of the cliff. Camilla grinned, showing off her filed-down fangs, and bit Jack’s shoulder. 

Before Bitty could react, Jack was in a headlock, Camilla’s knife pressed at his throat. Bitty grabbed Jack’s sword, raised it at Camilla, but she shook her head with a smirk. 

“One move and he’s dead,” she told Bitty, eyes unblinking. “You’ll bleed out soon enough, might as well just jump now. You can’t win this.” 

Bitty gritted his teeth. “No, I can’t,” he admitted, tightening his grip on the sword. “But I can make sure you don’t either.” 

Camilla raised an eyebrow at him. “Then I’ll die a hero, taking the mouthy tribute from Nine with me.” 

“Bitty,” Jack grunted, clawing at Camilla’s forearm. “Just kill her. Forget me.”

“Giving up already, Jack?” Camilla asked, a taunting edge to her voice. “I always knew you were weak. You never had it in you to be a victor.”

Jack smiled. “You're right. I realized I wanted to do better things in my life than win these games.”

“What else is there?” Camilla spat, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth where she'd been hit. Her platinum hair danced in the wind as the snow started falling harder - but not hard enough to veil the cameras. “There’s nothing else for us - just this glory. We have nothing, Jack. We go back victors or we die heroes.” 

“No,” Jack said softly. “There has to be...we’re more than that. Aren’t we? We’re more than just weapons.”  

“Should’ve let the morphling kill you,” Camilla hissed. “You’re weak and I'm going to kill you and then I'm going to kill your boy. That title is mine-” 

Without preamble, Jack sank his teeth into Camilla's arm. She yelped and Bitty took his chance, plunging his knife between her ribs.    
The poison on the blade must've hurt more than Camilla was expecting, and with a sharp gasp she stumbled backward as Jack broke free of her grip. 

When she fell, Bitty could've sworn it was in slow motion. Camilla’s face morphed from pain to shock to anger - and then she was out of sight. There was a faint thud from far below and a cannon fired. 

Bitty collapsed to his knees, breaths coming in shallow as blood seeped through his parka. It was over.

He looked up at Jack, whose eyes looked silver in the moonlight. There was something sad in them - there was always something sad in them - that made Bitty reach out for Jack’s hand and squeeze it tight. 

“This is it,” Bitty said softly. “You’ll be a victor soon.”

Grief washed over Jack’s face and his jaw tightened. Bitty could see him now, in the victor’s crown, standing before the cheering crowds. He would return home, would see his parents again, would join Kent Parson among the heroes of District One, however reluctantly. Bitty wanted to hate him for it, but he couldn’t. 

“Morphling?” He asked, voice no louder than a whisper. Jack nodded tersely and dropped down to rummage through their bags. 

Death had always scared Bitty. Ever since he was little, he’d seen it in the fields, in his mother’s patients, in the starving citizens. Death was an unknown, even when he watched it happen so often, and that was the scariest part of it. 

Bitty took a deep, shuddering breath and thought of his parents, smiling at him in their kitchen as he cooked. He thought of Chowder and Caitlin holding his hands as they danced at the Harvest Festival, tipsy on the ‘shine the Knight brothers had snuck in. He thought of Shitty and Lardo and Ransom, laughing and joking with him and Jenny as they prepared for the parade, working so hard to make him feel human before the games. He thought of Jack and his sad eyes, and knew that shade of blue was the last thing he wanted to see before he died. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, Bitty saw Jack pull out one of his water bottles -  _ that _ water bottle - and he tried to cry out in warning. But Jack looked up at him with knowing eyes and unscrewed the cap, bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips. 

“No, Jack-!” Bitty scrambled to his feet, stumbling in pain, reaching out to knock the bottle from Jack’s grasp. Jack managed three long gulps before Bitty succeeded, spilling the rest of the water to the rocks at their feet. 

Jack fell to his knees, body jerking violently. Bitty fell with him, holding him upright. Jack’s head lolled against Bitty’s shoulder, and he grasped tightly at Bitty’s parka. Through his tears, Bitty could see that Jack was smiling. 

“No, Jack, why?” Bitty gasped out, cradling Jack’s cheek in his palm. Jack’s hands shook as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from Bitty’s face. 

“The first time I saw you,” he whispered, fingers trailing down Bitty’s face. “Your hair in the light...it looked like a halo.”

Bitty let out a small sob. “Jack…” 

“Got your back, Bits,” Jack said, looking almost cheeky as his eyes started fluttering closed. His breathing was fast and shallow. “That’s what you say...in Nine...s’my turn.”

“It was supposed to be you,” Bitty said, crying in earnest now. “Jack, you were born to be a victor, not me.” 

Jack smiled at Bitty and wiped at the tears on Bitty’s cheeks. “Go live that long life, Bitty. For me. Please.” 

Just beyond the edge of the arena, the sun was finally starting to rise, painting the sky a harsh, bloody red. Blue eyes stared up at the light, unfocused, and a final breath was released. As the frozen world turned gold, the last cannon sounded. 

 

* * *

Lardo told him later that it took several Peacekeepers to drag him away from Jack’s body. Bitty didn’t remember that, but he hoped he made at least one of them bleed. 

Every screen in every part of the Capitol played those final moments on a loop: Camilla falling from the cliff; Jack chugging the poisoned water with a sad smile; Bitty holding Jack’s body to his chest, tears shining in the light of dawn. It was all disgustingly romantic. 

For the crowning ceremony, Ransom dressed Bitty in a shimmering, gold suit. Bitty stared at it forlornly.

“I couldn’t convince you to make it black, could I?” He asked, only half kidding. Ransom put away the blue eyeliner he’d been working with and gave Bitty a heartbreaking, knowing look before pulling him into a hug. 

“He’d want to see you in gold,” Ransom whispered against Bitty’s temple. “It suits you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Light-Boy or whatever.” 

“Bitty.” Ransom pulled away and clasped Bitty’s shoulders. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he pursed his lips and shook his head, as if he was second-guessing himself. Instead, he pulled Bitty’s Echohare pin to the lapel of the suit and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles. 

“You’re going to be okay, Bits,” he said with a small smile. “You’re a victor, now. It’s not...it’s not the end of the world, despite what Shitty and Lardo might say. You’ll heal. You’re strong.”

Bitty thought of Holster, of Jack, of the type of strength Ransom clearly wasn’t speaking of, and laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, but it was enough to shake the melancholy from his shoulders. “C’mon, bro,” Ransom said, slapping him on the back. “One more show.” 

The President shook his hand firmly as the music played. The crowd cheered, too loud in Bitty’s ears, and he winced. The President chuckled. 

“Eric Bittle,” he murmured, holding out the thick, golden circlet above Bitty’s head. “The Boy Made of Light. It’s fitting.”

“That’s what they tell me, sir,” Bitty mumbled, bowing his head as he was crowned. “Not sure if it’s true.”

“The people wouldn’t lie,” The President said, smirking a little. “Congratulations, Mr. Bittle.” 

He moved back as the music swelled and the crowd went wild. A thousand screens around the stadium showed Bitty standing there in his shimmering suit, his gold crown. Something clenched in his gut at the sight of his gaunt cheeks and solemn eyes; Bitty didn’t recognize himself at all, but the crown in his hair glinted like a halo in the light. His blood ran cold. 

The moment he was back in the dressing room, Bitty broke down against Ransom’s shoulder, ice-blue eyeliner trailing down his face. 

 

* * *

"Bitty, right?" A tall, dark haired man approached Bitty, dressed to the nines in a black suit. He looked achingly familiar- 

"Mr. Zimmermann?" Bitty asked, eyes widening. Bob nodded, and Bitty could see grief in the drawn lines of his face. "Oh. Um." 

"You cared about my son, didn't you?" Bob asked and there was nothing accusatory or really questioning in his tone. He was almost smiling. 

"Very much, sir," Bitty said, looking down at his shoes. "It should've been me, I wasn't quick enough to stop him, I'm so sorry-" 

Bob held up a hand to stop him, shaking his head. "Bitty, as you probably learned, Jack did whatever he put his mind to. I could tell what he was planning the minute you showed him that water bottle in the cave."

Bitty looked up at Bob to see tears shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry," Bitty whispered, throat growing tight. "I'm so sorry." 

Suddenly, shockingly, Bob pulled him into a tight hug. "You saved him when you could have left him for dead and no one would have blamed you. You were his friend, more than his friend- Eric." Bob pulled back, clasping Bitty's shoulders. "You made him so happy- happier than I've seen him in a long time. I..." Bob wiped at the tears on his face. "Thank you for being with him, in the end." 

Bitty could feel tears on his own cheeks. "He was something special."

Bob nodded, smiling. "He was."

He reached out and brushed his fingers over Bitty's pin. "An Echohare. It's fitting, I think. Of what's to come." 

"Pardon?" Bitty tilted his head, trying to read the odd look on Bob's face. 

"Oh, you know," Bob said vaguely. "The games." 

Bitty raised an eyebrow. "Well. I'm looking forward to seeing what's to come then." 

"I'll bet you are." Bob clapped him on the back and and grinned, eyes still red and wet. "We’ll meet again, Bitty. Take care of yourself." 

And then Bad Bob Zimmermann was walking away, hands in his pockets. Bitty stared after him until he disappeared into the crowd, confused and deeply unsettled. But that was par for the course anymore. Bitty sighed and headed back to where Lardo was waiting for him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


For most of the train ride home, Shitty insisted on “cuddling the everloving crap” out of Bitty. Bitty didn’t really mind and was honestly grateful for the attention, but he was even more grateful for the moments of silence. The second Shitty headed off to bed, Lardo pulled out the tub juice and poured them both generous servings. 

They didn’t talk for a long time. In that regard, Lardo reminded him of Jack, so outwardly solemn. Something stirred in his chest at the thought. 

“How long does it last?” Bitty asked finally, breaking the silence. “This feeling?” 

Lardo raised an eyebrow at him. “What, survivor’s guilt?” 

Bitty shrugged, staring down into his glass. Lardo laughed, soft and bitter. 

“That’s what Shitty calls it, anyway. But he never killed anyone.”

Bitty looked up again. “And what do  _ you _ call it?” 

“Guilt,” she said, bringing her glass to her lips. “Just guilt.” 

“You still feel guilty, then?” Bitty pressed, setting his untouched glass down on the table in front of them. 

Lardo shrugged, eyes downcast. She was silent for a moment, then she whispered,  “You reminded me so much of Shitty, when you saved Zimmermann. I don’t know if I regret sending you that note or not.” 

Bitty gaped at her. “If you hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

“And are you really better off?” Lardo asked, voice small. She took a sip of her drink. “It’s called the reaping for a reason. Even if you win, the Capitol kills a part of you the moment they call your name.”

And Bitty wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so they once again lapsed into silence. After several minutes, Bitty stood and announced he was going to bed. 

Lardo looked up at him a little sadly. “Are you going to finish your drink?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Good.” She gave him a small smile. “Sleep tight, Bits. You’re almost home.” 

 

* * *

 

The sun in District Nine was blinding when Bitty stepped off the train. Light had been scarce in the arena, and it felt soft and artificial within the confines of the Capitol. Here, though, the sun was as raw as the crops, as the people. Bitty’s eyes watered as he looked out on the crowd that had gathered to greet him.

His parents were at the front of the group, smiling up at him with pride and admiration. Bitty didn’t feel he deserved it, but he cherished the moment nonetheless. He was just happy to see them again.

Chowder and Caitlin stood a little further back, holding hands. When they met Bitty’s eyes, they both waved, eager and overjoyed that their best friend was safe and sound. Bitty waved back, swallowing down the lump in his throat. There was no one holding  _ his  _ hand now. He’d had that, for however brief a time, and the Capitol had taken it away. They took so much, took and took and took and gave nothing back. 

As he looked out on these people, his family and neighbors, the community he’d known his entire life, Bitty couldn’t help but feel how much he’d changed. He wasn’t Eric Bittle the baker’s apprentice anymore, nor was he Bitty the doomed tribute from Nine. 

He was a Capitol Muttation now, like the wolves in the arena, like the Echohare. And by the time he was done with them, they would wish they’d never,  _ ever _ named him tribute.

The sun of a new day shone down brightly on Eric Bittle, and the Boy Made of Light raised his arms in victory. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (spoilers)  
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS: Jack, Nursey, Dex, Tango, Camilla, April and March (I know they’re not all ~major~ but I thought any of these might be upsetting.)

**Author's Note:**

> part ii is almost done, will be up soon. 
> 
> Just a little tidbit: Because all the names in THG are fucking weird, I kinda imagined everyone’s nicknames to be their real names (see: Ransom and Holster), except for the four from Nine, because I needed that as a minor plot point. Also, even in this fucked-up Dystopia, I’m not really sure anyone would name their children “Shitty” and “Lardo.”


End file.
